


Building Blocks

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-04-02
Updated: 2005-04-29
Packaged: 2018-12-27 11:36:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 36,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12080277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: Justin works in construction.  Their newest job: Brian's loft.  He's attracted to Brian right away, but somehow, makes the mistake that Brian's straight. Please review.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

Justin

 

Of course Daph and I are the first to arrive. I can’t believe Mr. Chanders has us working with the biggest fuck-up in all of Pittsburgh. 

 

I huff and turn to Daphne, who’s tightening her tool belt around her waist. I can’t help but grin at her. “God, Daph. You look so butch.” 

 

She glares at me and I laugh, feeling better already. Fuck, if it wasn’t for Daphne, there’s no way in hell I’d be working here. I never, in a million and one years, thought I’d be a fucking carpenter. Or that I’d be good at it! 

 

“At least one of us looks butch,” Daphne smirks, nodding in my direction. She’s right. No matter how hard I try to look buff and _masculine_ , I fail miserably. It’s ‘cause I’m small and blond and...

 

Because I’m supposed to be an artist, damnit. An artist! Not, I repeat, not a goddamn carpenter for my best friend’s father’s construction company. But rather this than the alternative: a businessman. 

 

“I can’t help that I’m delicate,” I practically whine, pulling up my work pants. They never fit properly. Either my ass is too big or my waist is too small. I was mortified when Mrs. Chanders suggested I try the _women’s_ clothing line. 

 

“Don’t let your dad hear you say that, Justin. You’ll have to go to reparative therapy... again.”

 

I cringe. That was the worst. Did you know people do that? That parents send their gay children to these “clinics” to cure their homosexuality? Like being gay is a fucking choice. And the doctor, Dr. Anderson... God, what a fag. He practically begged for a blow job my second night there. If he wasn’t fat, ugly, and about eighty years old, I might’ve dropped to my knees, just to get out of there faster.

 

“The whole idea of curing homosexuality is a joke. My father knows this. Which is why I’m here, working one of the manliest professions available and not in New York becoming the next Picasso,” I grumble, pulling my own tool belt out of the bed of the truck. I wrap the heavy leather around my waist and secure it. “I look kinda hot, though, don’tcha think?” I ask, running my hands down my hips and kissing the air dramatically, earning a loud laugh from Daphne.

 

“You are such a fag, Justin.”

 

“Duh.”

 

We lean against our truck and wait. Glancing at her watch, Daph says, “Fuck, if they don’t come within the next five minutes, we’ll miss meeting our client. Patty says he’s a real hottie.” She stands in front of me, facing away. “Hey, crack my back.” 

 

I sigh, but then grab her from behind and lift her up. She giggles. 

 

“Do me,” I insist, turning away so that she can crack my back. “What are best friends for?” I ask, kissing her quickly. “Oh, look who finally decided to show up.” I point at the dirty truck pulling up in front of ours. “About time, Hobbs,” I yell at Chris. 

 

“What? Gonna be late for your pedicure, Taylor?” He bites at me. “You shouldn’t waste your time with a fag, Daphne. You should spend it with a real man.” He puts his hand on his obviously small dick and squeezes. Next to me, Daphne makes a disgusted noise.

 

“That’s precisely _why_ I hang out with Justin and not you, asshole. Now, hurry the fuck up,” she demands quickly, before Chris has time to react. “Hey, John.” She knocks on the passenger window of Chris’ truck. “Say good-bye to the wife and let’s go up.” 

 

I like John. No, not in a I-wanna-fuck-him way. He’s nice. It’s too bad he’s stuck working with a loser like Chris Hobbs. 

 

“Sorry we’re late, guys,” John apologizes, grabbing a couple tool boxes from the bed of the truck. “There was a huge accident downtown and Chris refused to take a different route.” 

 

The four of us stand in front of the building on Tremont. It’s not exactly Buckingham Palace. 

 

“They said it’s better on the inside than it is on the outside,” John tells us. “It’s a converted factory. So, it’s like, historical or something. Think of it that way.”

 

“It’s a piece of shit,” Chris mutters. For once, I have to agree with him. The lobby isn’t much better and the lift looks like it will break if all four of us ride it at once. 

 

“Why don’t we stick the boxes and tools in the lift and take the stairs. It’s the top floor, but there’s only four stories...” John offers.

 

We drag our tools and equipment into the elevator. Thank God we don’t have to bring up any wood. We’re not building, we’re just destroying today. Chris complains the entire time it takes us to use the stairs, meaning Daphne must be in a good mood, because she only threatens him with her hammer twice. 

 

We end up waiting for the lift. “Fuck, that piece of shit is slow,” Chris sighs.

 

“But it does the fucking job. Are you with Chanders’ Construction?” A voice behind us asks. 

 

I turn around and am literally floored by the man in the doorway. The first thing I notice is that he’s tall, not gargantuan or awkward, simply taller than I am. I like them with height, that way, when they fuck me from behind, they practically cover me, like a blanket...

 

No. I don’t notice his height first. It’s his skin tone. Olive, tan, dark, and light all at once. An artists dream. He’d make an amazing oil painting.

 

But as I let my gaze roam his toned body, I’m drawn to his eyes. Holy shit, man. They’re a beautiful brown, but not just brown. Green and gold and... speckled with some hidden amusement. Like, everyone and everything in life is here for him. Like, he’s special and we’re all just minor peons in his own personal game. 

 

He’s like a god. 

 

And dressed to kill. Black suit, red shirt and tie. Damn. I wonder if he’d let me run my fingers across the material. I just wanna know how soft it is. How stiff it is...

 

Stiff. Oh, shit. I can feel my cock start to grow. Fuck. This is the last thing I need. Instead of introducing myself, I step casually behind Daphne. She shoots me a confused glance and I blush appropriately. Her eyes widen and when I bring my hands up to cover my hard-on, she giggles. Fucking giggles.

 

John’s beginning the introductions, apologizing profusely. Brian lets his excuses settle, before saying, “Well, those two have been here for almost half an hour. If they made it on time, you could’ve too.” He raises a perfectly shaped brow and I find myself smiling. 

 

How cute. He has quirky little facial expressions. I have a feeling, though, that he’s the type of guy who would deny ever being “quirky.” Or cute for that matter. Not that he’s cute. Hot, yes. Sexy, mm hmm. Devastatingly handsome, uh huh. But, cute? 

 

And then he sticks his tongue his cheek and smirks; I immediately change my mind. This guy’s fucking adorable. 

 

He’s giving us a tour of his loft. John’s right, the interior is gorgeous; in a minimalist sort of way. There’s only bear essentials here, but it suits Brian. Ha, I’m already talking like we’ve been friends for years.

 

I shift in and out of listening to them discuss the plans he has for his loft. I do, however, hear something about adding a room for his son and I swear to God, my jaw drops to the floor. Of course he’s fucking straight. 

 

A son. 

 

I wonder where the little lady is. 

 

I must make some disgruntled noise, because they all turn to stare at me. Daphne reaches behind and pinches my ass. Hard. Fucking bitch. 

 

Glancing at his watch, Brian curses and grabs his briefcase, leaving us with quick instructions and slams the loft door behind him.

 

“Damn,” Daphne whistles. “He’s hot.”

 

“He’s a stuck-up, rich daddy’s boy who’s never wanted for anything,” Chris shoots back, unrolling the blueprints.

 

I snort. “You’re one to talk.”

 

The plans are rather complicated and I find myself excited at the prospect of a challenge. Finally. Because if I have to do one more goddamn koi pond, I’m gonna slit my wrists.

 

We argue over the music, of course. Daphne and I always vouch for something upbeat and danceable. But, fucking Chris. Always country. Which would be okay, I guess, if it wasn’t for the fact that he picks the same album every time we work together. If I never hear that stupid song ever again it will be too soon. Why not Johnny Cash? Hell, even Dolly Parton or the Dixie Chicks would be better than this. 

 

“I fucking hate this song,” John whispers to me and Daphne. Chris has it on repeat and is breaking down the wall in time to the music.

 

Daphne smirks. “Join the club.”

 

Pretty soon, the repetition has us all working diligently. I love how hot construction makes me feel. It’s a better workout than any routine I would use at the gym. I remember standing naked in front of my closet mirror, and noticing, three months into my employment with Chanders’ Construction, that I had muscles. So, I’m never going to be buff; it’s just not an option considering my body type and the fact that I love to eat. But damn, I have a great body. I love it when I take home some guy and he undresses me for the first time. It’s that look in his eyes that really turns me on--surprise and then appreciation. My body... men appreciate my body. It’s an extra “fuck you” to all the jocks who used to make fun of little old me in high school. I bet I can bench press more weight and with greater consistency than they’ve ever dreamed of. 

 

Jesus Christ. This job is fucking with my mind. I’m thinking like some stupid breeder boy from Boy Hunk, Texas or something. Muscles... Bench pressing... What next? Pussy and beer? 

 

Or worse yet, football.

 

I shudder. Leaning over to Daph, I say, “My dad’s gonna have his perfect man-son yet.”

 

She gives me a weird look, but I don’t offer any explanation. Instead, I just smile mischievously. She nudges me with her elbow. When I turn around, she pats my cheek and whispers, “You’ll always be my little fag.”

 

“With you as a hag?”

 

“Always.”

 

God. I love her.

 

She’s been my constant. The one person in my life who lets me believe that I’m still the same Justin I was before I came out. I sort of sprang up my homosexuality on her one day while she was trying on a dress at some small store in the mall.

 

“Daphne,” I remember calling out to her over the stall door. “I’m gay.”

 

“Okay.” That’s all. No big production or tears. No, “Oh my God! We _must_ check out boys together and paint our nails!!” Just... acceptance.

 

My dad, on the other hand... First, denial. Then, anger. After that came the shrink, the reparative therapy, and then, ultimately, the life-style demands. I am not allowed to talk about being gay or refer to any aspect of my gay life in front of him. I will not become an artist and embarrass him by “speaking with a lisp and flopping my wrists”--his words, not mine. I will not wear tight clothing or make-up. The make-up part cracks me up every time. Some days, I’m tempted to show up at the country club, in black leather and red lipstick, just to piss daddy off. 

 

Okay. Yes. I made a mistake coming out to my dad when I was still seventeen, still a minor, and still dependent on him. And yes, that was three years ago, but nothing’s changed. I moved out; found a place with Daphne. But, I have no extra money. I can’t afford school and unfortunately, my asshole father makes too much for me to receive any help from the state. I have to wait a few years until I can declare financial independence from my dad. But by that time, there will be no scholarships available for someone like me and all the available financial aid will go to some low-income, fresh out of high school little twat. 

 

I always become sad when I think that this is the life I will lead. I will never show my paintings in a gallery or sketch nude models. I will never have a studio and no one will ever pay me to recreate their likeness on canvas. I will work nine to five, every week day, pounding, sawing, scraping, and drilling. 

 

My sister Molly called me the other day. She has a boyfriend. Her very first boyfriend. I could hear my parents teasing her in the background and I couldn’t help the tears that filled my eyes. Because that, that camaraderie and happiness... I will never share that with my parents ever again.

 

And all because I like cock. 

 

I can’t help it. It’s... what I want. It’s what I dream about. What I’ve dreamt about since puberty. I love flat chests and muscular backs. I adore that smell that envelopes men when they’re on the brink of an orgasm. The way they kiss me, the way they dance, the gravel of their voices, the roughness of their faces as the day progresses... Men... 

 

I’m willing to sacrifice my art, my career, and my future to keep my father under control, but I am not willing to sacrifice my sexuality. My sexuality defines who I am. I make huge decisions based solely on who I want to fuck. I could never deny that.

 

Fuck. Why do I have to think about this shit when I’m working? 

 

“I need to pee,” I tell the others. I take off my gloves and clumsily climb out of my belt. This is always a moment of bliss--the moment when I stretch my body from all that weight and manual labor. Daphne says I’m like a cat. 

 

I’m surprised by Brian’s bedroom. It’s like, being showcased. The whole loft is centered around his bed. Hell, it’s like on a pedestal or something. 

 

No door. What kind of person wouldn’t have a door on his bedroom? A bachelor, I guess. 

 

Oh. This is a fuck pad, for sure. There’s a bowl of condoms on his night stand and very discrete pegs on his wall above his bed. For handcuffs, probably. Damn. I didn’t think straight men are as devoted to sex like we queers. You learn something new every day, I guess.


	2. Building Blocks

Brian

 

I wake up and notice two things. First, this is the first full night’s sleep I’ve had in probably over ten years and second, my answering machine says that I have seventeen new messages. I’m almost tempted to delete all of them without listening, but I know that phone calls will just persist until I either finally answer the phone, or until my friends come and pound my door down. I press play and it’s just what I expect. 

 

Two from Emmett. One from Ted. One even from Debbie, exaggerating, “Where the fuck are you? The boys have been waiting half the night?” and then a dozen or so from Mikey. They need to get lives. What? Babylon won’t stand on its own without me holding the back room wall up while someone sucks me off?

 

It’s a decision I made last week when it suddenly dawned on me that I’m going to be thirty... Holy fuck me! Thirty!... in less than a year and here I am, acting like I’m twenty-one with balls of steel and a metabolism that never quits. Thus, I choose to go out with a bang rather than slowly flicker until I become too old and wrinkled and gray for even the most despicable queer on Liberty.

 

So, I’ve limited my prowling to the weekends only. 

 

Not like I’m looking for a relationship. Oh, hell no. This isn’t some fairy tale story where I change my wicked ways and become a God fearing homo with a little hubby and three kids. That’s never going to be the life for me. I’m just... changing. It happens as you get... older. 

 

Which is why I’m sitting here on a monday morning, drinking my coffee, reading the paper, and waiting for the damn construction company to come make my loft livable for Gus.

 

That was a big decision, and surprisingly, the easiest one I’ve ever made. 

 

I did really well with the loft. It suits my needs perfectly, but I have a son to think about. I look out the windows, the heat from my coffee decorating them with small patterns of steam. It’s so fucking early and I’m so fucking aware of everything around me. I should get a full night’s rest every night, ‘cause this is wonderful.

 

There’s this blond guy and a brunette girl leaning against a white truck. It’s fairly difficult to make out the words on the truck, but I think they’re here for me. I mean, that they’re here to renovate the loft. I squint. Yeah, I can just make out the words on the truck. They seem so young. I shrug my shoulders and sip my coffee, watching them with interest. 

 

The girl’s playing with her tool belt. She’s determined. 

 

The blond seems bitter. 

 

Fuck, I’m insightful today. Maybe I’ll nail that meeting I have this morning.

 

Another truck screeches to a halt and the two look none too happy to see it. They throw some words around and finally settle outside my building. Even from here I can tell that aren’t impressed. Well, fuck them. It’s better on the inside. The building’s ugly, but it does prevent theft. What do they say about an judging a book by its cover?

 

Glancing at my watch, I become impatient. What the fuck is taking them so long? I stride over to the loft door and wait, until I finally hear voices. They took the stairs? As I slide open the door someone says, “Fuck, that piece of shit is slow.”

 

“But it does the fucking job. Are you with Chanders’ Construction?” I ask. The blond guy and the chick check me out openly. I have to bite my cheek to keep the smirk off my face. The blond isn’t too bad himself. I’d fuck him. Although, he looks about twelve. I give him a moment to continue his scrutiny before introducing myself. 

 

He doesn’t say a word and instead, hides behind the girl, Daphne. She looks at him and then giggle. I don’t know what the hell that’s about, but it’s obvious they’re still very young because... giggling? I shake my head slightly and then usher them into the loft.

 

They’re sort of a motley crew. I wonder how well they work together.

 

The blond... Justin, I think... has this half-glazed look on his face and I doubt he’s really paying attention. When I mention Gus, that look disappears and another one, something close to disappointment, takes its place. 

 

Huh. 

 

He probably doesn’t like kids. Fuck, at that age, neither did I. I still don’t. Just Gus. I love Gus.

 

I leave them with simple instructions, but very difficult ground plans. Daphne and Justin, in particular, seem excited at the prospect of this job. As I walk to the jeep, I wonder about them. Why are kids that young working at a construction company instead of going to school? They don’t seem like the type of people who would normally work construction. Then again, I don’t know any other construction workers. Maybe all construction workers are as eager.

 

 

The minute I walk into Vanguard, Cynthia’s riding my ass about this client and that meeting. She hands me a small stack of memos. “They’re from Michael,” she tells me. “Coffee’s brewing. I picked up the soy milk like you _asked_.” More like demanded. “Call him back now, before he starts calling every three minutes again.”

 

This is my life. A great job, a healthy, happy son, an awesome loft, and an obsessive best friend. With some good always comes some bad, right?

 

I talk to Michael for ten minutes. Something about his shop and Ben. It’s so typical, I’ve stopped listening. Instead, I’m going over the latest contract. My red pen circles the same grammatical error I’ve found in the last three drafts. Growling silently, I snap my fingers at Cynthia, who comes rushing in. I point to the error with my pen and hold up three fingers. She rolls her eyes, but takes the contract from my desk. I snap my fingers once again and she turns around warily. I bring my hand to my throat and pretend to cut it. She smiles and shakes her head.

 

I know it’ll be fixed. I think it’s time for Cynthia to get another raise. I’ll talk to Gardner about that--

 

_“Brian!”_ Michael yells into my ear. Fuck! I forgot.

 

I causally lean into my chair. “Yeah?” I ask.

 

_“Were you even listening to a word I said?”_

 

“Not really.”

 

He huffs and I imagine feeling the spittle hit my cheek. _“Brian--”_ He begins.

 

“Look, Michael. I’m at work. A novel concept, I know. But I have to go. I’ll see you later.”

 

I hang up before he can get another word in and stall me. He’s good at that.

 

When I return home this evening, I expect to find a huge mess. My loft, after all, is being renovated. But, I’m impressed. Yes, there’s plastic covering half my furniture, a huge fucking hole in my wall, and tools spread out haphazardly. But, I sigh, nothing that will have me twitching with the need to clean up.

 

I walk to my bedroom, tearing off my clothing as I go. I love my expensive Prada and Armani, but after spending close to twelve hours restricted in suits and ties, my favorite part of the day is slipping out of them into something more comfortable. I pull out some worn jeans and a black shirt, but change my mind and instead, take out sweat pants and a tank top. I don’t plan on going anywhere tonight. 

 

I notice the wallet on my bathroom floor the minute I enter. Opening it, I’m assaulted by the blond worker’s gigantic smile. Justin, was it? Yeah. Justin. Jesus, who in their right mind would smile this big for a fucking license photo? It’s a good one, though. Instead of looking like it’s his mug shot, the lighting works in Justin’s favor. Lucky bastard. 

 

I take the wallet to the kitchen and throw it on the counter. Then, I can’t help myself. I pick it up and begin rifling through it. The poor kid has like twenty dollars in his bank account and even less in his wallet. And he lives in a shit part of town. What self-respecting fag would ever live there? There’s a beat up emergency contact card. Pulling it out, Daphne’s name is on top, her address the same as his. How sweet, they live together. There are two other contacts on the card, but both are crossed out with a black marker. Holding it up to the light, I can faintly read the names of two people that can only be his parents. I wonder why he’s crossed them out.

 

I should take the wallet to him. Or at least call him and tell him that I have it, but I’m too lazy. Instead, I put it back out the counter and turn on my computer. There’s research I have to do for our newest client. 

 

A knock at the door thirty minutes later interrupts me. 

 

Don’t let it be Michael. Or Linds. Or, God forbid, Melanie. Oh please, don’t let it be Debbie.

 

But instead, it’s Justin. He looks... hot. All dressed up. He’s breathing heavily, probably took the stairs again. What an idiot. His eyes wander my body like it did this morning. Hm. I wonder what he’d say if I tipped him over the bar and fucked him like he’s never been fucked before. Laughing silently to myself, I know exactly what he’d say. “Yes” and “please” and “harder” and there’d probably be an “oh, God!” somewhere. 

 

I raise my eyebrows. “What?” 

 

He shakes his head, his hair flying with the motion. “Sorry. I... Did I leave my wallet here?” He asks, his voice low and breathy. 

 

“Yeah. Come in.” I open the door wide and he ducks under my arm before I have a chance to move it. “You know... There’s this thing called an elevator. You should use it.” I say, leading him to the counter where I left his wallet. “Instead of the stairs.” I pick up the wallet and he holds his hand out in gratitude. 

 

“Your elevator scares me,” he tells me, opening his wallet before thinking the better of it and blushing. 

 

“What? Afraid I might steal your thirteen dollars?” I ask.

 

He blushes. “No. No. Of course not... You... Went through my wallet?” 

 

I shrug my shoulders. Damn. Yeah, I forgot about doing that. “Had to find out who it belongs to.”

 

Pulling out his cell, Justin looks up at me. “But, uh... you didn’t call me to tell me you had it. I went all over town looking for it.”

 

“Huh. Yeah. Sorry.”

 

He opens his mouth to say something, but instead, lets out a frustrated sigh. “Well, thanks anyway, Mr. Kinney.”

 

Mr. Kinney? God, that makes me feel old. I watch him as he moves toward the door. He’s got a great ass. “Well?” I stop him. “No reward?”

 

Justin spins around. “What?” His voice raises and he nervously fumbles with his wallet. “I’ve only got thirteen dollars. That’s supposed to last me until pay day. I, uh--”

 

“Justin. I was kidding.”

 

“Oh.” Justin pauses and then lets out a laugh. “Sorry. I didn’t know.”

 

“Yeah. I can tell.”

 

We stand there in silence. He’s pretty fucking cute, if you ask me. I wonder where he’s going all spruced up. 

 

“Where’re you headed?”

 

He smiles this unbelievable smile. Damn. “No place special,” he drawls, licking his lips and then blushing.

 

Ah. He’s off to Babylon. “Well, don’t party too hard. You still have to rip apart my loft tomorrow.”

 

Justin lingers near the door a moment longer before throwing out a quiet “later” and leaving.

 

“Later,” I repeat to myself.

 

I’ve never really noticed how empty my loft is until just now. Weird, huh?


	3. Building Blocks

Justin

 

Would you believe I look forward to work? 

 

All this week, I’ve been up before Daphne--showered, dressed, and fed before she even thinks about her morning cup of coffee. 

 

I can’t help the fact that I have the major hots for our new client. 

 

Brian Kinney. He’s got to be single and, even though I know it’ll never go anywhere, he doesn’t vomit when I shamelessly flirt with him. 

 

That’s why I get up early. If we leave around seven-thirty, there’s a good chance that we’ll catch Brian before he leaves for work. And he always invites us up for coffee and whatever food is laying around. He’ll even join Daphne in making fun of my metabolism. 

 

I don’t know. Sometimes I get that _look_ from him, but I swear he’s straight. Daphne thinks he’s queer through and through and God, I’d like to believe her. It’s just that he doesn’t act gay...

 

God, I can’t believe I thought that. _He doesn’t act gay_. How disgusting is that? I know better than most that there is no “one way” to being gay. But, it’s just that there’s nothing... queer... about him at all. If I were to describe the ultimate American male, it would have to be Brian. Smart, successful, handsome, rich... Every woman’s dream, right? 

 

Well, dammit, it’s every gay man’s dream, too. Except that I don’t really care about the rich or successful parts. As long as he looks good and can hold his own in a conversation... And Brian? He does both fabulously.

 

There’s no traffic today and I’m embarrassed that we get to the loft before he’s even finished dressing. He’s in pants and an undershirt, his hair still wet and slicked back from his shower. I love how strong his cologne is in the mornings and how it lingers in the loft even after he leaves. 

 

“Don’t you two like to sleep in?” He grunts around his toothbrush. 

 

Daphne searches his empty fridge and shuts it with a sigh. “Don’t you ever like to eat?” She whines. God. I’m so jealous at how she’s able to banter with him. 

 

“I’ve got to keep up my girlie figure,” he jokes in that false falsetto he’ll use occasionally. 

 

He has a bitter sense of humor. It’s biting, dark, and intelligent. 

 

I notice an art portfolio on the breakfast bar and can’t help my curiosity. It’s already open and some presentation boards are carefully piled on top. Right away, I can see that the slogan’s color is wrong. The font and size is perfect, but the coloring... I crinkle my nose. Orange. It should be orange, definitely.

 

“What do you think?” Brian asks, slinking up to me as he knots his tie. 

 

“It’s... uh... good,” I answer, swallowing as his hands smooth his shirt over his chest. I can make out the faint ridges of his chest and taunt stomach when he does this. 

 

Lifting an eyebrow, Brian picks up a board. “Just good?” He asks quietly, as though he’s seeking my approval.

 

I snap myself out of whatever trance has me drooling over his clothed body. “No. No. It’s ingenious...”

 

Brian leans against the bar really fucking close to me. Behind him, Daphne grins at me, fluttering her lashes. “But?” He asks.

 

“No buts.”

 

“Uh huh.” He’s staring intently at the boards and now I just feel bad. 

 

“Fine. There’s something a little off about the slogan.”

 

I watch as his gaze focuses on the words. “What about the slogan?” He insists, holding the board away from his body for a different perspective.

 

“There’s something wrong with it.”

 

I try not to stare at the intensity plastered on Brian’s face. Brian’s eyebrows scrunch together and his teeth scrape at his bottom lip. “And I suppose you know what’s wrong with it?”

 

Shrugging, I run my hand along the edge of the bar. “The color, I guess.”

 

Annoyed, Brian tosses the board back on the pile. “Fuck, you’re right. Now I’m going to have to spend half the day--”

 

“Orange,” I interrupt before he can finish. 

 

Brian stares at me, then picks up the board. 

 

Or maybe red. Or, shit, yellow. 

 

But, instead, Brian grins uncharacteristically and laughs. “You’re so fucking right. Orange. Who would’ve thought?” He reaches out and pats my head. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think his hand lingered longer than it had to. 

 

He begins to gather the boards together and the moment, or the possibility of that moment, is lost. I feel a pout escaping my lips and before I can recover, Brian’s studying my face with that hidden amusement he seems to find in everything. 

 

“What?” I ask. I avoid the impulse to straighten my shirt and pat down my hair. 

 

“You’re pouting,” he points out, smiling as I suck my lip back in. 

 

I really like him. He’s... friendly. Well, no. Not really. He’s one tough mother fucker and tries to hide behind snarls and sharp comments, but underneath it all, he’s just as soft as the rest of us. Okay, he’s a bit harder than I am, but he’s still human. 

 

And goddamn if he doesn’t know how to flirt. 

 

I don’t let myself make a big deal out of this. He flirts with Daphne, too. It just... It seems he pays more attention to me, is all. 

 

Keep dreaming, Taylor. 

 

A knock on the door announces John and Chris’ arrival and ends our bonding time. I sneak one last peek at Brian and he’s giving me that look again. 

 

“You seem in an unreasonably good mood,” Chris snarls at me. The more we work together, the more he’s openly hateful to me. “Suck a lot of cock last night?”

 

Brian’s head snaps up and his eyes narrow.

 

Oh please don’t let him be another fag-hating breeder. Please. Please.

 

“Interested in sucking a lot of cock, Hobbs?” Brian asks. 

 

Is he... coming to my rescue? Daphne steps beside me and places a warm hand on my arm. She notices it too. Oooh, we’re gonna gossip about this for hours after work.

 

“I’m not a fag,” Chris is quick to answer.

 

“Rrrright.” Brian lets the word dangle in the air, before turning to the rest of us and saying, “I’ve got to get to work. You guys are doing a great job.” 

 

“What an asshole,” Chris announces once the loft’s door is shut.

 

“Takes one to know one.” Oh, Daphne. That was so bad, but for some reason, it shuts Chris up.

 

 

During lunch today, Daph, John, and I play cards. Chris is scoffing at us from the corner, playing some stupid hand-held game. It’s beeping and whooping, filling the loft occasionally with an annoying victory song. 

 

The loft door slides open and in walks this short, dark haired guy. He doesn’t see us staring at him from over our cards, which is strange, ‘cause we’re right here in the living room. It’s kind of hard to miss us. Instead, he kicks off his shoes and walks into Brian’s bedroom. Hmm. 

 

Chris mutters something under his breath, turning off his game as we all stand up. I’m the first to reach the bedroom, receiving a small push from Daphne. “Go see,” she hisses, handing me a crowbar. 

 

I roll my eyes but grip my hands firmly around the steel. I take a tentative step forward and Chris huffs loudly. “Come on, faggot. Let’s see what ya got.” Asshole. The rustling of... clothing? disturbs the stillness of the loft. I can’t help the fact that my palms are sweating.

 

Peering in, I see the strangest sight imaginable. The guy has stripped down to his boxers and pulls the duvet off of Brian’s bed. He runs his hands across the mattress and then finally lays down, nestling deep under the covers.

 

He sighs and that’s it. I tighten my hands around the crowbar and march into the bedroom. “The police are on their way. We’ll give you until the count of three to get your ass out of this bed.”

 

The man’s form jumps. He rips off the covers and, like a deer caught in headlights, stares at us with a mixture of both fear and disbelief. “Who the fuck are you?” He sneers at me, giving me the once over before pulling the covers over his half naked body. He has an erection and that really creeps me out.

 

“No. I think the question is: who the fuck are _you_?” I raise the crowbar above my head. 

 

“What are you doing?” His voice squeaks. 

 

“One...” I begin my count, taking a courageous step toward the man. “Two...” His mouth has dropped open and he glances around me to the others. “I’m not fucking around, buddy.” Wow. I really enjoy being macho. He seems scared and this makes me so fucking pleased with myself. He doesn’t move, though. “Dude,” I emphasize. “You are breaking and entering--”

 

The man snorts. “You can’t be breaking and entering if you have a key.”

 

My step falters. “You have a key?” I ask. “Where?” He makes a movement and I swing the crowbar. “Don’t fucking move. Where?” I repeat. 

 

He glares at me and then sighs. “In the right pocket of my pants.” 

 

Daphne rushes over to us and picks up the man’s pants. Sure enough, a set of keys falls out.

 

“Which one?” I ask the man. He rolls his eyes, so I ask louder, “Which one?”

 

“The square one. Jesus.”

 

Daphne leaves the room. I hear her open and then close the loft door. “It works,” she calls out. 

 

“Get dressed,” I tell the man, lowering my arms and leaving the bedroom.

 

“Whoa, Justin,” John laughs, taking the crowbar out of my hands. “That was awesome.”

 

The man follows us, pulling his shirt over his head. “Did you really call the cops?” He asks, nervously tucking his shirt into his pants.

 

“No,” Daphne shakes her head. “But we could have. Who the fuck are you?”

 

“I’m Michael,” the man says flatly, as if this explains everything. 

 

“Well, Michael. That really doesn’t answer the question.” I’m enjoying the role of aggressor. I hardly ever get to play one.

 

The man sighs and folds his arms across his chest. “I’m Brian’s best friend.”

 

“Well, I’m Justin’s best friend,” Daphne begins. “But that doesn’t mean I go into his room and climb into his bed when he’s not home.”

 

“Uh... Don’t you guys like, live together?” Fucking Hobbs.

 

“That’s not the point, Chris,” Daphne bites out. “The point it, I wanna know if Brian knows Michael here is coming to his home and sleeping in his bed when he’s not here. That’s all.”

 

Even Chris is interested. The three of us stare intently at Michael. He squirms and then, finally, huffing, practically whines, “I have a key. It’s no big deal.”

 

We’re silent momentarily. Then John speaks up. “If it’s no big deal, then you won’t have a problem with us calling Brian and telling him about this...”

 

Michael’s eyes widen and that tells us enough. 

 

“Gross,” Chris grumbles. 

 

Yes. Gross. Weird. Creepy. And oddly enough, curious. I find this whole situation to be very curious. 

 

Michael’s pulling on his sneakers without tying his laces. He finally notices that one whole half of the loft is under construction. He walks over to our blueprints, but Daphne slaps his hand away. “That’s private,” she sneers, gathering the prints and rolling them up.

 

“Look. I’m Brian’s best friend. He won’t care if I look through that shit or not.”

 

He seems pretty protective for being a best friend. 

 

“Well, we do,” Daphne mutters. She obviously doesn’t like him, which is strange, ‘cause Daphne’s the type of girl who’ll give everyone the benefit of the doubt, even weirdoes like Michael. “Now, if you excuse us, Michael. We have work to do. And I suggest you leave now, before I change my mind and decide to call Brian just for good measure.”

 

Michael’s taken aback. His gaze roams between the three of us and decides that we aren’t worth his time. 

 

“Freak,” Daphne says, once the loft door is locked behind Michael. I sit down on the floor for a breather and she slides down next to me, leaning in so close that I can smell her too sweet lip gloss. “He obviously has the hots for his best friend...”

 

“Yeah, well, join the club,” I sigh. My head hits the wall of the loft harder than I expect. Ouch. I begin to rub the back of my head, but I can feel Daphne’s eyes studying my face with so much intensity it makes me nervous. “What?”

 

“You... You have the hots for your best friend too?”

 

She looks like she doesn’t know what to do with herself. “Oh. No! Ha. I mean, you’re fucking gorgeous, Daph. But, uh... I was talking about Brian.” 

 

“Oh...” She lets out a long, relieved sigh. “Thank God. I was worried.”

 

“Why? Don’t you think I’m sexy?” I ask her, crawling around her body to settle on my knees in between her legs. I run my hands up her arms and lick my lips. “Don’t you... want me?” I whisper. 

 

Daphne bites her lips. It’s a game we play. Sick, I know. But it’s fucking fun. And confuses the hell out of people.

 

“You know Daphne’s not a faggot, right?” Chris yells at us. See? Fun. Especially if we can get on Chris’ nerves. All in a day’s work.

 

I lean in and give Daphne a peck. “Come on, gorgeous. Let’s get back to work.” I stand up and yank Daphne to her feet in one fluid motion.

 

“Oh, Mr. Taylor,” she giggles. “You’re so strong.”

 

“Fuck off.” I’m working on it, dammit. I’m getting there.

 

We all get into the flow of things, smashing and tearing down the remainder of the wall, when John turns to me. “I think you should tell Brian about his friend anyway.”

 

Chris ignores us and continues pounding while Daphne and I stop. The sweat is already forming above my brow. “What? Why? We told him we weren’t going to.”

 

John shrugs. “‘Cause it’s creepy and he should know about it. You don’t have to tell him it was Michael. Just... that a friend came to his loft and... uh... got into his bed half naked with a raging hard-on. I’d want to know...”

 

“Yeah,” Daphne agrees, thrusting her cell phone into my hand. “You don’t have to tell him who it was. Just... tell him.”

 

My voice cracks when I desperately ask, “Why me?”

 

John laughs. “‘Cause you’ve got a crush on him and he obviously likes you the most.”

 

I open my mouth for a rebuttal, but Chris interrupts, complaining, “Why am I the only one working? Does that mean I get all your wages for the day?”

 

Daphne rolls her eyes, but starts to work again. John gives me a push to the door. “Do it outside. It’ll be loud in here.”

 

God. I settle on the top of the stairs and flip open Daphne’s phone. Scrolling down, I find Brian’s work number. I really shouldn’t be as nervous as I am.


	4. Building Blocks

Brian

 

“Brian? A Mr. Taylor’s on line two,” Cynthia knocks on my door.

 

“Taylor?” She shrugs, so I pick up the phone, “Kinney.”

 

_“Mr. Kinney?”_ I recognize his voice almost immediately. _“Hi, it’s Justin Taylor from--”_

 

“The construction company? What can I do you for?”

 

He breath hitches, pausing, and I hold back a laugh. Man, this kid is fun to play with. 

 

_“There’s a situation we collectively decided you need to be aware of.”_

 

The smile leaves my face. Well, that doesn’t sound too fun. Shit. “What’d you break?”

 

_“What? Oh,”_ he laughs slightly. I just notice how deep his voice is. _“Nothing like that. We just... Do many of your friends have keys to your loft?”_

 

“Not many,” I tell him slowly. Two, in fact. Lindsay and Michael. “Why?”

 

_“We’ve just thought you should be informed that one of your friends... came over today...”_

 

That’s strange. “But they all know I work during the day.”

 

_“Yeah... Obviously...”_

 

I don’t know where this is going, but I know I don’t like it. “And?”

 

_“And your friend... uh...”_

 

“Man or woman?” I ask.

 

_“What?”_

 

“Man or woman? The friend?”

 

_“Oh, uh... man?”_

 

Michael. I have a sense of foreboding. “Okay,” I say slowly.

 

_“He... didn’t see us and uh... went to your bedroom and... crawled into your bed.”_

 

“What?” 

 

_“I thought he was a thief or a psycho or something, so I threatened him with a crowbar...”_

 

“You what?” 

 

He’s quick to answer with, _“Well, I didn’t know he was a friend and I thought it was kind of weird that this guy--”_

 

“No. I just... I can’t imagine you threatening someone with a crowbar, is all.” 

 

Justin lets out a puff of air. Relief? Humor? Annoyance? I can’t tell over the phone. _“So,”_ he beings. _“We weren’t gonna tell you, but... it’s kinda creepy, right? Someone crawling into your bed half naked--”_

 

“Naked?” What the fuck, Michael?

 

_“Well, down to his... panties...”_

 

I snort.

 

_“Anyway, that’s it. Just thought you should know.”_ He seems hesitant, like he doesn’t want to go yet. 

 

“Yeah. Thanks, Justin.”

 

Sounding immensely pleased with himself, Justin smiles through the phone, _“You’re welcome... Mr. Kinney. Well, I’ll see you tomorrow.”_

 

“Yeah. Tomorrow. Oh, and Justin?”

 

_“Hmm?”_ His voice is husky.

 

“It’s Brian.”

 

I know he’s glowing. What an ego trip this kid is. _“Okay... See you later...”_

 

“Later.”

 

_“Later... Brian...”_

 

He hangs up and I’m left listening to the dial tone until the operator picks up. 

 

My mind is reeling. What the hell was Michael doing? And, more importantly, how long has he been doing this? Shit. Justin’s right, it is creepy.

 

I have to talk to Michael about this, huh? 

 

“So, Michael came to your loft, knowing very well you weren’t home and... what?” Lindsay asks, disbelief seeping into her words. We’re both pushing Gus in his stroller casually down Liberty Avenue; my left hand, her right hand. We must look like two of the biggest hetero wannabes, but you know what? The men of Liberty know who I am and know for a fact that I’m the furthest thing from a breeder they’ll find.

 

“And stripped down to his briefs,” I smile despite how I’m feeling when I think about Justin’s description of Michael’s briefs as _panties_. “Then he crawled into my bed.” I shudder thinking about what was going on under his briefs. Was he hard? Leaking?

 

I’ve never been physically attracted to Mikey, sexual or otherwise. That’s one reason I’ve never fucked him. I think, ultimately, I made up the rule about never fucking friends just to avoid telling Mikey that I don’t think he’s... hot. He’s just not my type. I think of him more like my brother than anything else, and although I’m into many things sexually, incest isn’t one of them.

 

“Did he do anything in your bed?” Lindsay asks, cupping her hand over her forehead like a visor. She squints as she looks at me, the setting sun painting her face a soft pink. She’s really is beautiful. I know if things were different, if I wasn’t most decidedly a fag and she didn’t prefer pussy, we’d be living that happy hetero lifestyle. 

 

“Jesus, Linds. That’s...” I can’t even begin to describe how gross it is to think of Mikey... doing _stuff_ in my bed.

 

She shrugs her shoulders. “Well, you never know with Michael. I mean, if he’s not against sneaking into your bed when he thinks, no, is absolutely _sure_ you aren’t home, then what’s going to stop him from masturbating in it? Or worse yet--”

 

“Worse? There’s a worse than sleeping in Michael’s dried come stains?” Okay, this is too perverse and disturbing, even for me. 

 

We walk in silence. Gus is playing with the spinning toy attached to his stroller, gleefully shrieking at the twisting colors. 

 

“How do you know?” Lindsay asks me suddenly. “I mean, if you were at work...”

 

“Oh. I’m getting some changes done to the loft. One of the construction workers told me. I guess they weren’t going to call, but then decided it was in my best interest to know...”

 

“Yeah. Good choice.” Gus bores of his toy and reaches out to me. I glance hesitantly at Lindsay, who gives me a small smile and nod. We stop walking and I crouch down, unlatching Gus from his stroller and gathering him in my arms. God, was I ever as small as he is? 

 

“He’s getting so big,” Lindsay laments, caressing Gus’ cheek with the back of her hand.

 

I snort. “I was just thinking how small he is.”

 

Laughing, Lindsay nudges my shoulder with her own. “That’s ‘cause you don’t have to deal with him every waking moment. You’re not there to witness the little bit he changes every day.” There’s no sting or anger in her voice, just adoration. Sometimes, when I’m bored or feeling lethargic, I head over to the munchers. It’s amazing how much love they have for Gus... _my_ son. 

 

“What are you thinking now?” Lindsay asks, searching my face for God knows what.

 

I shrug my shoulders and look at Gus, “Mommy’s prying again, Sonny Boy.” She laughs and we continue to walk, Gus secure in my arms.

 

“So, what kind of work are you getting done to your loft?” 

 

I knew I couldn’t hide it from them forever. “Just... work.”

 

She raises her brow, a very Kinney-like expression. Bitch. Can’t fool the king.

 

But, obviously she’s the queen, ‘cause I find myself telling her about adding a room for Gus. Lindsay doesn’t say anything, just nods her approval. She lags behind me as we walk, and damn it all to hell if I don’t feel her fucking beaming into my back. 

 

“And they all thought Brian Kinney would be a bad father.” We stop in front of the Liberty Diner and she leans in to kiss my cheek. “God, I love you, Brian. I’m so glad we’re friends.”

 

I roll my eyes and feel infinitely more nervous than I did before. I hate moments like these, and when one of my best friends is a gushy dyke... well, let’s just say I’ve experienced more tears and sappy declarations with Linds than I care to admit; than I will ever admit.

 

The diner is fairly crowded and our usual booth in the back is taken up by two kids. Fuck. “Let’s go somewhere else...” I begin to say, but one of the kids in the booth turns around and it’s Daphne, from the construction company.

 

“Brian?” She calls out, her voice raising to a question. I curtly nod. Justin whips his head around and offers me a glorified smile. Jesus, that thing’s gonna be the death of me.

 

“Oh, my God,” Lindsay whispers, leaning into me. “He’s fucking... wow...” 

 

I snort and roll my eyes, biting my tongue from saying anything truly nasty that will ruin this evening’s mood. Instead, I saunter over to the booth. “Hey, kids,” I greet them. “Mind if we join you?” I ask, nodding to Lindsay and Gus. 

 

Daphne smiles and gestures to the empty booth across from them. Justin seems a bit subdued. 

 

Lindsay makes quick introductions and, after whispering in my ear that Daphne isn’t “half bad either,” starts up a conversation with ease. I’m somewhat proud of her ability to talk to people from all walks of life.

 

Not that I think Justin and Daphne are below me. That’s ridiculous. I just think... Oh. I’m digging myself into a hole here.

 

I’m so busy chastising myself, I almost miss Justin’s emphasized question of, “What are _you_ doing _here_?”

 

“Out for a stroll. Decided to get a bite to eat. Same as you,” I tell him, hoping that I don’t look as confused as I feel about his question.

 

Justin gives me a half-smile and says, “I somehow doubt that,” turning to Daphne for affirmation.

 

Affirmation for what, I do not know.

 

“You guys are with the construction company that’s working on Bri’s loft?” Lindsay asks. They nod their heads and she continues, saying, “But... you’re both so young.”

 

Justin gets a look of defiance in his eyes. “We’re both twenty. Nearly twenty-one,” he mutters defensively. 

 

Daphne clicks her tongue and elbows Justin. “Sorry, Lindsay. Justin doesn’t like it when people make a crack about his age...”

 

“Oh, I didn’t mean to offend you,” Lindsay says directly to Justin. She smiles at him until he visibly eases and smiles back. Fucking WASPs. They have all the control in situations like these. 

 

“My dad owns Chanders’ Construction. It’s been handed down for three generations.”

 

“Ah,” Lindsay’s so fucking polite. “And you?” She asks Justin. 

 

He fidgets in his seat. 

 

“Justin didn’t have much of a choice,” Daphne laughs, rolling her eyes at the heated glare Justin gives her. “It was either work with me or go to Dartmouth--”

 

“That’s a good school,” Lindsay interrupts.

 

“Justin doesn’t want to be a businessman,” Daphne tells us, placing her hand around Justin’s shoulder and pulling him close to her, kissing the side of his temple. “He didn’t want to lose his family completely, so he chose to work the grind with me and the boys.” She smiles lovingly at Justin, who grimaces back at her, pushing away and slouching into the booth.

 

“I’m sorry,” Lindsay says. “I don’t understand. Why would you lose your family?”

 

Justin sighs loudly. He reaches for his soda and plays with the straw. “‘Cause I’m a fag. Daddy wouldn’t pay for art school and mommy wouldn’t stand up for me. So, here I am, far from the artist I imagined myself to be at this age. But you know what? I like it. I like working with Daphne. And I like getting all beefy,” Daphne giggles. It must be an inside joke. “And it’s as close to art as I’ll get without actually losing my family for good. Everybody has to make some sacrifices.”

 

Lindsay’s eyes are filled with unshed tears and she shakes her head remorsefully. “Oh, Justin,” she moans. “I’m so sorry. Parents can be rough. Especially about sexuality.”

 

She’s such a dyke.

 

Justin shrugs, but before he can respond, one of the diner drones asks for our order. I sit back and watch as Daphne and Lindsay make small talk. If I didn’t know better, I’d say they were flirting. I look at Justin and he glances between Daphne and Lindsay, raising a brow. 

 

“Lindsay,” I say, leaning into her. “You’re married.” 

 

Lindsay looks away from Daphne, flushing. She puts her lips to my ears and whispers quietly, “I can still look.”

 

Justin is watching us with huge eyes. I’ve never noticed how blue his eyes are. They’re clear and large and... very pretty. His pale skin contrast his blue eyes, making the color stand out more than it would on someone like me. 

 

“Is that your son?” He asks suddenly, motioning to Gus. “He looks just like you.”

 

I nod, picking Gus up from his stroller. “Wanna hold him?” I ask. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Lindsay try to hide her surprise. 

 

Justin nods, holding out his arms for my son, who takes an immediate liking to him. He reaches out and grasps Justin’s finger, giggling like a demon. “Wow,” Lindsay says, her voice filled with awe. “Justin, Gus doesn’t really like anyone. That’s amazing.” We watch as Gus clings to Justin’s chest, bouncing happily on his lap, tugging on his nose, lips, ears, and hair. 

 

Justin inspects Gus for a moment before turning his gaze to Lindsay. “He has your nose. And chin.”

 

Lindsay puffs out her chest proudly. God, what a mother hen. Then she turns to me and nuzzles my cheek with her nose. “We did well, Bri,” she says. 

 

When our food arrives, I’m amazed to find how much food Justin can actually wolf down. He orders half the menu and I’m surprised to see that not only does he finish it all, he picks at Daphne’s meal too. “Fuck off, Justin. I’m hungry.” She pushes his hand away for the third time. He scowls at her before eyeing my sandwich.

 

I push my plate toward him and he grins. What a great fucking smile he has. 

 

Justin inhales my sandwich and after, leans against the booth and groans. 

 

“No one forced you to eat that much, Justin,” Daphne admonishes him. 

 

He flips her off, happily sedated. 

 

“You know...” Lindsay says quietly to me as we watch Justin and Daphne shoot insults back and forth. “They remind me of us when we were their age.”

 

I nod, “Although I doubt they’ve fucked.” Lindsay blushes and pushes my shoulder.

 

“It was only once,” she huffs. “We were so drunk. And you didn’t even come.” She crosses her arms and glares at me. 

 

Before I can remark, Michael’s voice echoes loudly in my ears. “Brian! I though you had to work!” He rushes over to us and stands, tapping his foot, glaring at me. 

 

“Yeah. I did. And now I’m having dinner with my son and his mother.” I raise my brow, trying to decide how to make it through this situation. I wave my hand in Justin and Daphne’s direction. “This is Justin and Daphne. I suppose you guys met before?” I ask. 

 

Michael does a double take when he sees them. His face burns red and he nervously shoves his hands in his pockets. “Oh. Uh. No.”

 

“No? Look harder, Mikey.”

 

Lindsay scoots closer to me and places a hand on my knee. 

 

Michael barely glances at Justin and Daphne. “Nope,” he shakes his head insistently.

 

“Really?”

 

Michael nods and Justin rolls his eyes, scoffing.

 

“Well...” I have to tread this carefully. “They’ve informed me otherwise.”

 

I don’t think I’ve ever seen Michael look as angry as he does the moment I say this. He focuses on Justin and glares, but then, allows a small smile to entertain his face. “Oh, yeah. Yeah, I remember you. Nice to see you again.”

 

Justin pulls out a wad of the most horrible mess of money I’ve ever seen, somehow finding a couple twenties. He throws them hastily on the table and pushes Daphne not so gently out of the booth.

 

“What the fuck, Justin?” Daphne asks, almost falling to the ground.

 

“We have to go,” he bites out, smiling apologetically at Lindsay and myself. I make a motion, as if to reach out for him, but stop. I guess I don’t want him to go.

 

I watch them leave as Michael takes their place in the booth across from us. I wait until Justin and Daphne are out of my sight before I turn my attention to Michael. He doesn’t return my gaze, choosing to pick up a sugar packet and open it, piling the sugar on Justin’s empty plate.

 

“What’s going on, Michael?” I finally ask, annoyed that he’s ignoring me when he’s chosen to sit here.

 

“Nothing. Just got off of work. Thought I’d get something to eat,” he says, raising his arm and waving to our waitress. 

 

Lindsay pinches my knee slightly and I sigh. “I mean, Michael,” I begin again, making sure that I use his full name, not his nickname. “Why were you at the loft this morning?” 

 

And why the fuck were you sleeping in my bed half naked? 

 

“Just needed to borrow... something...” He pauses, taking in the look of disbelief on our faces. He stands up suddenly, “You know, I forgot I have to be somewhere. I think I’ll get my food to go. Later,” he calls out, rushing to the register and motioning with his hands.

 

I lean back against the booth and let out a long sigh. 

 

“You should confront him, Bri,” Lindsay says. “Don’t let him off the hook this easily.”

 

“Whatever. You know Michael. He’ll just evade any form of questioning until I give up. At least he knows that I know... what he’s been doing... He probably won’t be doing it again for a while.”

 

Lindsay nods and then stretches. “I should get home, Brian.” I move to let her out of the booth, watching as she makes sure Gus is strapped into his stroller. “They’re cute,” she says absently, although I know exactly who she’s talking about.

 

“Yep.”

 

“Especially Justin.” She glances up at me and smiles mischievously. “He’s got a crush on you, you know?”

 

“Yeah, well... Who doesn’t?” I grin. 

 

Shaking her head, Lindsay laughs. “God, you’re so conceited.”

 

I smile and wave good-bye to Gus. And even though I should be figuring out what to do about Michael, my mind wanders back to Justin.

 

A crush, huh? How... interesting.


	5. Building Blocks

Justin

 

“She’s so gorgeous,” I tell Daphne, picking up a elongated piece of wood. We’re finally putting up the frame for the new room at the loft. “And his son... Oh my God! Have you ever seen such a perfect family before?” 

 

I know Daphne’s getting a little weary of me talking about Lindsay and Gus, but I can’t help it. They literally blew me away. Even if Brian was a fag, there’s no way I’d ever be even in the same league as him. 

 

“They’re not a family, Justin,” Daphne sighs, helping me hold the board into place while John and Chris nail it into the frame. “At least, not in the traditional sense.” Her voice is strained from the effort of keeping the wood in place. “I mean, so they have a child together. So what? In this day and age, that means less and less.” 

 

We both pull away, gasping for breath. I wipe the sweat culminating around my hairline. Fuck, this has to be the worst part of construction. “No. They were close.”

 

“So? You and I are close....” She motions to another piece of wood. “But we’re not together. Aren’t you even a little bit curious about why they were hanging out on Liberty. And eating at the diner? That’s pretty bold of them--Jesus, Justin! Bend with your knees! You’re gonna kill your back!” God. She can be such a Nazi when it comes to this shit. 

 

“Yeah, Taylor,” Chris laughs. “Use your knees. A fag like you should know how to do that.”

 

I bite my tongue from saying something totally vicious. Chris has been worse the past few days, if you can believe it.

 

I flip him off and bend my knees, lifting the board with a straight back. She’s right. This is better. 

 

As we work, I think about Brian and Lindsay--how happy they seem together. Together. I wonder if I’m ever going to be as happy with someone. 

 

They obviously love each other, but there wasn’t the passion between them that I expected to find. Especially since Brian’s so fucking hot and Lindsay is so beautiful. If I had a lover half as good-looking as Brian, I’d be all over him, all the time. 

 

They seemed conformable together, but there was no fire. 

 

I’m looking for fire.

 

“What’re you thinking about?” Daphne asks me as we go for more wood in the truck downstairs. I grimace and shake my head. “Oh, Brian. I should’ve known. Why’d I even ask?” 

 

“Fuck off. This is hard.”

 

“You’re always hard when you think about Brian,” she jokes, messing my hair with her grimy hands. 

 

“God, you’re such a perv, Daph. I meant _this_ as in this whole situation. Brian... Lindsay...”

 

“Why don’t you just ask Brian what his relationship with Lindsay is? Make it easier on all of us. Especially on me, who has to listen to you ramble about him constantly.”

 

“I already know what their relationship is.”

 

“No you don’t. You assume you know. Two completely different things. I’m telling you, Brian’s gay.” Yeah. I wish. We start stacking wood on the wheelbarrow. “Why do we always have to do the dirty work?” She complains, grunting as we try to carry more than two pieces together. “What’d you do to Chris to make him so... hard up on you lately?”

 

We drop the boards ungracefully into the barrow. “Come on, Daph. You know I didn’t do shit to him. He’s just being as ass ‘cause he can...”

 

“Yeah, ‘cause you’re scared of him.”

 

“I am not!” I practically yell, lifting the front of the barrow while she grabs the back. Fucking stairs. Isn’t there such a thing as a handicap ramp? I should complain to management. 

 

“You are, too. But, you have reason to be. Chris is one of those scary homophobes.”

 

“Closet cases usually are,” I huff. 

 

“Ooh, don’t let him hear you say that.”

 

We wheel the barrow into the lift and take the stairs. John insists it’s perfectly safe, but the noise it makes and the weird smoky smell that emanates from it after it’s used is enough to keep us away.

 

When we finally get the wood into the loft, Chris is standing there, his arms across his chest, glaring at us. “What the fuck were you guys doing out there? You’ve been gone forever. Some of us have to work.”

 

“We weren’t gone that long,” I answer carefully. “The wood’s heavy and--”

 

Chris snorts and turns to John, his voice layered in contempt when he says, “Never send a _faggot_ to do a man’s job.” 

 

Daphne and I are emptying the wheelbarrow. I let the wood drop from my hands, wincing as it clanks noisily to the floor. I straighten my back and look Chris in the eyes. “Faggots are still men, Chris. Maybe even more so ‘cause we take it up the ass and don’t complain about the pain. In fact, we welcome the pain. You wouldn’t last one minute in my place,” I tell him. I can’t help but grin maliciously as his face pales.

 

“I don’t want to hear about your filthy lifestyle,” he grimaces, sticking out his tongue and wrinkling his face up in disgust.

 

Sighing, I walk up very close to him, his breath foul on my face. “Oh, I think you do. I mean, you keep talking about it. All the time. I think you want details. I think you wanna know what it’s like sucking cock... or what it’s like to be fucked by a long, thick, hard dick... ramming into you so fast and so deep that you lose your breath... you wanna know what it’s like fucking an ass so tight you feel like your dick’s gonna clamp off... you feel like you’re gonna lose yourself in that never ending cavern of warmth... you wanna know what it’s like eating ass--”

 

I’m actually kind of surprised that Chris lets me carry on as long as I have. It happens so suddenly, I don’t even realize I’m being attacked until he has me on the floor, pounding the back of my head ruthlessly into the hard wood. Daphne screams my name repeatedly somewhere behind me and I can barely make out John’s form, grasping desperately at Chris’ enraged body. 

 

Apparently, Chris thinks I’m some weak little faggot who’s gonna take it laying down. Well, he’s in for the shock of a lifetime.

 

I lift my knee and crunch it over and over between Chris’ legs until I hit home. He lets out a growl of pain, jumping off of me. I sigh in relief and sit up, gasping for breath. But then his hands reach out for me and he lifts me up by my hair, pushing me dangerously into the frame we’ve been building. Even amidst the fight, I’m proud at how resilient our wall is. 

 

I punch Chris in the face, making contact with a sickening crunch and he howls, momentarily lost in the pain. He looks up at me, face drowning in red--huh, we do have the same color of blood after all--and punches my own face once... twice... stopping himself only to pick up a discarded piece of wood the size of a baseball bat. Before I have time to cover my head, Chris swings, but he never makes contact. 

 

My eyes can’t focus, but my ears are in perfect working order. I hear cursing, yelling, heavy breathing, sobbing, and then nothing. I blink multiple times, shaking my head to clear it of the fuzziness that’s enveloped it. I look up cautiously and there’s Brian, looming over me, his mouth moving rapidly.

 

My name. He’s saying my name. I open my mouth to calm him down, but blood flows from it instead of words. I start to choke and Daphne runs over to me, rubbing my back, screaming at Brian to “do something! Help him!!” Brian pulls Daphne away from me and lifts my chin, his strong hand encasing my face delicately. 

 

I squint at him out of my left eye, my right eye rapidly swelling shut. God, I hope I don’t scar. I must be really fucked up right now if that’s all I can think about.

 

“Are you okay?” Brian’s voice echoes in my head. Ouch.

 

I nod vigorously. 

 

“I should get you to a hospital,” he says, turning my face slightly in his hands to inspect it. 

 

“No. No. No,” I repeat, pulling away from him and attempting to stand up on my own. “No hospitals.” I shudder and swallow some blood, gagging at the taste.

 

“Shit, Justin,” Brian cries out. “Don’t throw up on my floor!” I double over. He turns to Daphne, “I think a hospital would be best...”

 

“No,” Daphne says quickly. “He hates hospitals. Don’t do that to him.”

 

I’m right here, I want to say. Don’t talk about me like I’m not here. But, the pain in my head is so acute, I feel like I’m blacking out. Maybe I am. 

 

“Then take him to the bathroom and clean him up. There’s a first aid kit behind the toilet,” Brian tells Daphne hurriedly. “Fix him.”

 

I can feel Daphne hesitate. As much as I hate hospitals, she hates blood. God, what a pair we make. 

 

Daphne steps away from me, looking down at the blood on her hands. She starts to shake. “I’m... bad about... blood,” she says, dry heaving for an added effect.

 

“Je-sus Christ,” Brian sighs. I stand up, trying to recover some dignity. He seems to take pity on me, though, because his face softens, and he reaches out, grasping my hand gently. “Come on, Sunshine. I’ll take care of you.”

 

Sunshine? I follow him, hardly able to lift my feet. I’m so tired.

 

Brian can feel me lagging behind him. “Sleepy?” He asks me. He places a hand on my head and starts to press gently all around. It feels pretty good until his fingers caress the back of my neck--

 

“Ouch,” I practically yelp, stepping out of his grasp, touching the back of my neck tenderly. It feels soft... and wet. Oh no. My hand returns, red with blood.

 

“Did he hit your head?” Brian asks. I look up at Brian, my eyes filling with tears and I nod. “Are you bleeding?” I nod again and feel the tears spring from my eyes. I try to blink them back and let out a trembling breath, which sounds more like a restrained sob than anything else. “Justin...” He begins, stepping next to me and placing a protective arm around my waist. “We’re gonna have to go to the hospital.”

 

Probably. But, I’m not going down without a fight. “No!” I cry out. “I’m okay. I’ll be...” My step falters. “Okay...” I look around the loft. Everything seems so hazy, like a watercolor. Brian starts to walk away. No. I reach out for him, grasping violently in his direction. I lose my balance.

 

“No?” He asks me, sarcasm tainting his voice as he hoists me up. 

 

I glance at Daphne, who’s scrubbing her hands fiercely under the faucet. She meets my gaze, “I’m sorry,” she whispers.

 

I really don’t want to go to the hospital, but as Brian runs his arms behind my knees and hugs me to his chest like a child, I stop caring. He smells so good. The acrid smell of my blood and sweat mixes with Brian’s husky cologne. “Mmm,” I moan, breathing in deeply. He shoots me a startled glance and if I were in my normal state of mind, I’d probably blush. Instead, I grasp his suit lapels with my dirty hands and whimper. 

 

“Sometimes I really am just a weak little faggot,” I huff as we wait for the lift. Daphne runs down the stairs in order to get Brian’s jeep ready for our arrival. 

 

Brian shakes his head. “Are you kidding?” He asks, his voice full of wonder. “You beat that kid to a bloody pulp. I’m pretty sure he’s in a worse spot than you are. You were very brave, trying to hold your own like that.”

 

I can hardly keep my head up. I let my eyes close and my mind drifts back to that look on Chris’ face when I punched his nose. Ah, bliss.

 

Something sharp hits my cheek and I snap my eyes open. What the fuck?

 

“You need to stay awake,” Brian demands, stepping into the rickety lift. It nearly knocks us over when it begins its descent. 

 

“Okay,” I mumble weakly, my eyelids fluttering as I strain to keep them open. That warm darkness begins to welcome me again as he walks me toward the jeep. 

 

“No sleeping, Justin,” Brian says again, climbing ungracefully into the jeep with me still in his arms. 

 

Everything’s foggy and surreal. The only things I can make out with some realistic accuracy are Brian’s strong arms around my body and the softness of his lips that occasionally brush against my sweaty forehead. He’s a good dad.

 

I hear Daphne laugh. “He’s not your daddy, Justin. Far from it.” I must have said something out loud. I glance wearily at Brian, who’s glaring at me in mock anger.

 

“Asshole. I’m not old enough to be your father.”

 

I giggle. To me, it sounds distorted. Reaching up, I run my shaky hands through Brian’s beautiful hair. I need to take advantage of this situation as much as I can. His hair is smooth and softer than I imagined it ever to be. Like a baby’s hair. So perfect and addictive. 

 

He leans his head against the seat, opening his mouth to let out a sigh. What a fucking gorgeous man. With all the strength I can muster, I wrap my arm around Brian’s head and lift myself up, pressing my lips sloppily against his own. He quickly pulls away, surprise etched on his face. My embarrassment is swallowed up by the blackness as I let myself fall into a deep sleep.

* * *

This chapter is for Alantie and her wonderful description of my writing as “Tantalizing Almost!Angst.” Ah, that it is. That it is. I can _almost_ do it.


	6. Building Blocks

Brian

 

They make him change out of his clothes and Daphne and I smirk while he slips into that tasteless hospital gown. The doctors were afraid that he had a concussion, but it turns out the little twat passed out from _excitement_. Yes, he fainted. If one little peck on the lips knocks Justin out, I wonder what a whole night of fucking would do to him. Kill him, perhaps. 

 

“Let’s see, Justin,” Daphne laughs when he doesn’t emerge from behind the screen.

 

“No.”

 

It’s my turn to chuckle. “Come on. It can’t be that bad.”

 

I don’t know why, exactly, Justin is afraid of hospitals. When Justin awoke and found himself on the cold, crisp hospital cot, he freaked. I’ve never seen someone as terrified as Justin was. But, they gave him a shot of something which has made him amiable and happy, so we’re able to joke with him right now.

 

His voice is soft. “It’s... rather small...” 

 

I raise my brows and jump off the counter. Daphne grins and together, we tiptoe to the screen. She mouths a count off and we pull it back, causing Justin to let out a startled yelp. 

 

Damn. It is small. But... damn. I mentally smack myself for being so inappropriate. The kid needs x-rays and probably stitches, but he looks so fucking hot in the stupid, little smock. It seems to hug his chest, defining his slightly muscular body perfectly. I let my eyes roam openly. He has great legs. Powerful. I take in a silent, deep breath when I think about what he must look like from behind. 

 

Holy shit. When did I start thinking about him so objectively? 

 

“What?” He asks self-consciously. 

 

“It doesn’t look bad, Justin,” Daphne tells him, circling him. “Especially from here,” she whistles. 

 

This really can’t be jealousy that I’m feeling as she eyes his naked ass, can it? No. Definitely not.

 

Justin covers his ass with his hands. “You’re gross, Daph.” He snorts. His smile disappears and his face pales considerably.

 

“Need to sit down?” I ask him, reaching out and grasping his shoulders protectively. 

 

He nods. Together, Daphne and I help him to the little cot in the corner of the room. “Lie down,” I tell him, pushing him against the pillow. His breath is shallow and quick as he studies the sterile room.

 

Daphne reaches for the call button, but I stop her, shaking my head. “You’ll be okay,” I tell Justin, pushing his bangs away from his face. “Right?”

 

“If you stay with me,” he whispers. I’m not sure if he means both me and Daphne, or just me. I chose to ignore the implications in his words. 

 

“We’ll be right here,” I promise as the doctor enters the room.

 

It turns out the only stitches Justin requires are on the back of his neck, just below the hairline, from where Hobbs pushed him up against the frame in the wall. Lucky little fuck. 

 

He emerges from the bathroom draped in the extra set of clothing I had in my gym bag, his own bloody clothing disposed of in the trash can.

 

“You’re bigger than I am,” he says, laughing at the way my jeans scrape against the floor with each step he takes.

 

“You’re just short.”

 

He’s been in considerably good spirits since he found out they wouldn’t have to shave his head and he wouldn’t need any surgery. They gave him an second dosage of what Daphne has now dubbed as Justin’s “Happy Drug.” 

 

His grin is wide as he scoots next to me. “Can we get the fuck outta here?” He asks hopefully. “I fucking hate hospitals.” He shivers dramatically. 

 

“So I’ve heard,” I mumble. 

 

Daphne enters the room and I laugh at the sight. She’s pushing a bright pink wheelchair. 

 

“Okay, Justin, doll. Climb aboard,” Daphne drawls. “I chose pink special. Just for you.”

 

He clenches his fists and shakes his head adamantly. “There’s no way in hell I’m getting on that thing.”

 

“You haveta, Justin,” Daphne sighs, dropping the humor in her voice. “You’re physically weak and are on a lot of drugs right now. Doctor’s orders.”

 

“Fuck the doctor. I’m not getting on that thing. It’s... _pink_.”

 

I can’t help but laugh. Here Justin is, in complete hatred of hospitals, refusing to leave because his wheelchair is pink. 

 

“Justin,” I tell him. “We must pick our fights wisely. Now get on the fucking wheelchair so we can get you home.” 

 

He shakes his head and stomps his foot, much like Gus does when we don’t give him his way. “No,” he tells us. “And you can’t make me.” 

 

I wait for him to stick out his tongue and call us “meanies” when we insist that he get on the wheelchair, but he never does. 

 

“I can walk on my own, thank you very much.”

 

“Yeah, well,” I say, swooping down and throwing him over my shoulders. He lets out a startled cry. “That’s not an option right now.” I dump him into the chair and push it out the door before he can regain balance, with Daphne giggling behind us. 

 

He grumbles the whole way, refusing to acknowledge the flirtatious nurse as we sign him out. He hides his face in his hands as we push him through the waiting room and into the parking structure. 

 

“Can I drive?” He asks as we stop next to the jeep.

 

I shake my head, unlocking his door. “Not on those drugs. Now get in the damn jeep, Taylor. This is not how I intend to spend my evening.” I sound harsher than I mean to and the look on his face tells me he’s taken my words to heart.

 

An apology is on the tip of my tongue as we pull out of the structure, but I refuse to say it. We drive in silence. I adjust my rearview mirror, fixing it on the back seat. I think the drugs are wearing thin because Justin’s lips are turned down in a small frown. Daphne leans in and whispers something to him. It does the trick. He smiles and nods, rolling his eyes. 

 

We drive through a long tunnel and when I glance back in the mirror, Justin’s lazy gaze stares back at me. He raises his eyebrows, smiling softly at me. 

 

During the rest of the ride, Justin continues to look into the mirror, refusing to look away whenever our eyes meet.

 

 

Justin

 

“I can’t believe you kissed him!” Is the first thing Daphne shrieks to me once Brian leaves our apartment. I was embarrassed by the mess our apartment had become over the past few weeks, but Brian merely grinned and called us “children.” I’m crawling onto the couch when Daphne says this and my limbs seem to stop working.

 

“What?” I ask slowly.

 

“Brian. You kissed him, Justin,” she tells me. Her face lights up and she chuckles. “Oh, my God. You don’t remember, do you?”

 

I stop my movements and think, hard. Kiss. Kiss. Kiss. Did I really kiss him? I try to focus all my memory on his amazing lips. “When?”

 

“In the jeep on the way to the hospital. You were pretty far gone by then, though--”

 

“What did he say? Did he do anything? Did he kiss me back?” All this excitement is making my head throb. I’m going to need some of those pills the doctor gave me sooner than I imagined.

 

Daphne opens her mouth, as if to say something, but instead, shakes her head and mumbles something about checking our messages.

 

I slump into the couch. When Daphne avoids answering a question like that, it can only mean one thing. I was rejected. “Did he say anything?” I ask quietly.

 

She sighs and settles down on the couch next to me, flipping on the TV. “Nah. He just... looked surprised. He pulled away rather quickly, though.”

 

“Shit.” I rest my head against the arm of the couch, curling my legs into my body. Thank God I can’t remember kissing him.

 

“He wasn’t disgusted, Justin. Don’t worry about that,” Daphne tells me, turning to watch me as I try to get comfortable on our old couch. “Just surprised.”

 

I nod my head and close my eyes. We watch some mundane comedy, until the phone rings. Daphne’s dad calls to inform us that Chris wouldn’t be working at the loft with us anymore. Apparently, Chris tried to blame the whole thing on me, but John came to my defense. Mr. Chanders gives me the option of missing work tomorrow, but I want to go. I want to see Brian.

 

“You should really get some rest tomorrow,” Daphne says, shaking her head as she hangs up the phone. “Brian won’t mind.”

 

“No. I want to go.”

 

“You want to see Brian.”

 

“Maybe.” I close my eyes and pull the blanket we keep on the back of the couch over my body. “Wake me up when it’s time to go.”

 

 

Brian’s eyes widen when he answers the door and sees me, grinning, next to Daphne. He lets us in, but grabs my arm. “What the fuck are you doing here?” He asks. “Shouldn’t you be at home, resting?”

 

I shrug my shoulders. “I have a job to do.”

 

“Yeah, to relax and get some fucking rest. The doctor said no manual labor the first couple days.”

 

God. He’s worse than a mother. “I’ll be okay, Brian.”

 

Brian shakes his head and turns to Daphne. “I’m not taking him to the hospital again when he loses wind or opens his stitches ‘cause he’s acting like a childish twat,” he bites out, releasing my arm and stomping into his bedroom.

 

Daphne raises her eyebrows. “Ooh, he’s worried about poor, little Justin,” she whispers.

 

“Probably doesn’t want to be sued or something,” I say grumpily. The back of my head is starting to throb. Fuck.

 

I sit on a stool at the bar, messaging my temples. “See?” Daphne says, pointedly. “Told ya it wasn’t a good idea to come here today, but nooooo--”

 

“Shut the fuck up, Daph,” I grumble, taking in a deep breath. There. That’s better. I eye the corner of the room where Chris and I fought; it’s clean. “Hey, Brian?” I call out. He peeks his head from around his bathroom door. “Who cleaned up the mess we made last night?”

 

“Who do you think?” He disappears once more into his bathroom.

 

Fuck. Daphne climbs onto the stool next to me and pulls my head towards her, capturing my head beneath her talented fingers. “I think he’s mad at me,” I sigh, leaning further into her. 

 

She tugs my hair once and then kisses my cheek. “Nah,” she whispers into my ear. “I’m telling ya, he’s just worried.” She gets up and pulls back the loft door. 

 

John steps in. “Hey, looks like it’s just me and you tod--” He sees me at the bar. “What the fuck are you doing here, Justin? You need to get some rest.”

 

“I was just going to take him home,” Brian says, stepping down the bedroom stairs, gathering his briefcase. “He’s a little ambitious.”

 

“I can work,” I tell them, sliding off the stool, taking a moment to balance myself. “It’s just these fucking pills,” I remark, pulling the orange bottle out of my pocket and throwing it angrily onto Brian’s counter. “I hate being on medication.”

 

Brian picks up the bottle, which has rolled dangerously close to the edge of the counter. Reading the label, he grins happily. “Well, lookee here, Justin. ‘Do not operate heavy machinery.’ There’s no way in hell you’re going to be working today if says right here on the bottle that you can’t.” He looks at me as if he’s won a gold medal. “Come on, Sunshine. I’m taking you home.” 

 

I drag my feet all the way to his jeep. “Stop acting like Gus,” he snaps, pulling open my door for me. 

 

I sigh and climb inside. Traffic’s pretty bad once we get downtown. I dare to glance at Brian. He doesn’t look too pleased. “I’m sorry about this,” I tell him, refusing to meet his gaze while we wait at a red light. “I should’ve stayed at home.”

 

Brian takes a practiced breath, but then shrugs, releasing some of the tension. “Whatever. It’s not like I wouldn’t have hit traffic anyway.”

 

“So...” I begin. “You dating anyone?”

 

Brian lets out a belt of laughter, not answering my question, and I don’t have the balls to bring it up again.

 

He’s pretty casual about me being gay. I don’t know a lot of breeders like him.

 

He remembers, fairly accurately, how to get to my apartment. He even walks me to the lobby. “You shouldn’t live in such a slum.”

 

I shrug. “It’s the only place Daph and I can afford without going to our parents for help.”

 

“Independent?” He asks, lingering near the front door.

 

Nodding, I sigh. “As independent as I can be.”

 

We stand awkwardly in silence. “Well...” he starts. “I’ll see you soon. Get some rest,” he calls out, waving as he leaves.

 

I don’t make my way to the elevator until I’m sure he’s gone. I don’t know what I’m waiting for. Or why I stand here, like an idiot, fussing with my hair, hoping he’ll come back. For what? 

 

I remind myself about Lindsay. And Gus. And the fact that he likes pussy. 

 

Why do I always do this to myself? Every guy I’ve ever been attracted to has some sort of set back. Like, being closeted. Or being heterophobic. Or being straight. Goddamnit. I push the elevator button and feel the slight tug in my gut before it begins its ascent to my floor. 

 

I jam the key into the door, slamming it closed harder than I mean to; small bits of plaster snow down on my head and shoulders. 

 

I need to get laid. I swoon slightly. But first, I need to get some sleep.

* * *

I _PROMISE_ for a union soon. Promise! This story is just... taking the really long way. I'm sorry. Forgive me.


	7. Building Blocks

Justin

 

It’s sad when you’re a gay man and the only friend you have is a straight chick.

 

“If you’re gonna complain all night about me,” Daphne huffs, “Then maybe you should start looking around for more friends.” Right now, she’s rummaging through my closet, helping me find the perfect outfit. She, that bitch, looks great in just about anything--even the dark jeans and plain black top she’s wearing tonight. 

 

“What kinda guy are you looking for again?” She asks, throwing about four pairs of pants onto my bed. “‘Cause your outfit should mirror that.” She holds up a pair of tight black leather pants and I shake my head. “Okay, so leather is out. What about these?” She pins a pair of brown plaid pants to my waist. No, I’ve had enough starving artists in my life. 

 

“What else did you pick?” I wander over to the bed. Displayed on my bed are a pair of jeans and my baby blue Dickies. Hm. I don’t normally wear the Dickies when I go out clubbing. I run my hands over the light blue pants. “I think I’ll wear these tonight,” I decide, holding them out for inspection. Clean. Wow. That’s unusual.

 

Daphne smiles. “Good boy. Blue is most definitely your color.” We have this conversation every time she helps me find an outfit. She’s right, though, blue _is_ my color and these pants, from my previous experiences, have no limits to the type of men they attract. I don’t know what I’m looking for tonight, but I know I want it to be special. “Besides, it’ll go well with that nice shiner you’ve got,” she teases, pointing to the fading black eye Chris gave me. “Now, unless you wanna go for the twink look, I’d rule out tee-shirts.” Sometimes I think Daphne’s chromosomes were mixed up; she’s really quite gay. 

 

She loses herself in my closet again, eventually tossing me two shirts, both collared work shirts; one black, one white. “If you wear the black, you can wear the boots. Those things are hot. But if you wear the white, you wear those cute sneakers we bought the other day.”

 

“We bought? You mean that you forced me to waste my money on.” They didn’t have them in her size, so Daphne insisted I buy them instead. I’m such a pushover.

 

She chooses to ignore me and sifts through my closet again. She pulls out a funky dark indigo sweater that has a weird curved zipper running down the neck and up its side. I bought it on impulse and have yet to wear it. “This is it. Wear this,” she demands. She grabs my boots and tosses the ensemble to me. “Wear black panties.” I smirk at her. “What? Gotta be color coordinated.”

 

I change while she does her hair and make-up in the bathroom. “Are you sure you don’t mind coming with me tonight?” I ask, my voice muffled by the sweater.

 

“Like I have anything better to do on a Friday night, Justin.”

 

Sometimes I wonder if I’m holding her back; that if it wasn’t for me, she’d have a steady boyfriend and maybe some really great girlfriends. 

 

“Beside,” she says, walking back into my room as I’m zipping up my pants. “I love hanging out with you. You’re my best friend.” She smiles sweetly and I’m filled with a deep sense of admiration for her. “Now,” she smacks my ass, “What are we gonna do about your hair?”

 

 

Everywhere I look, there are hot men, many of which show obvious interest in me. 

 

“See?” Daphne says, as we avoid the long line and slip past the bouncer with identical smiles. “I told you that outfit is hot. Plus, the black eye gives an edge about you. The mysterious, tough twink. I’m a genius.”

 

“Yeah,” I agree. “What would I do without you?” I grab her hand and lead her to the bar. She orders her usual mixed girlie drink and I get my whiskey, straight up. 

 

“Cheers,” we say together. I order my second shot, while Daphne slowly sips her drink. She is, after all, my designated driver. 

 

“Looks like you’re getting some attention,” I tease her, nodding to a somewhat good-looking man dancing at the edge of the dance floor. 

 

Daphne laughs, leaning against the back of the bar comfortably. “Uh, I’m guessing it’s you he’s been eyeing, Justin. This is Babylon, after all.”

 

Hm. I look back at him and he smiles. A glint of metal flashes under the bright lights. He has braces. I’ve had a bad experience with braces and quickly lose interest in him. 

 

“Hey,” Daphne nudges me. “Isn’t that Brian’s friend Michael?” She asks, pointing to the entrance of Babylon. We stare as Michael, smiling, glides into Babylon as if he owns the place. Draped across his shoulders is a very handsome man who totally looks like Superman. “Oooh,” Daphne says suddenly. “I get it.” 

 

I offer her a curious look. 

 

“Michael’s gay and in love with Brian. Brian doesn’t love him like that, so he sneaks into Brian’s loft and sleeps in his bed in order to remain close. He probably settled for that guy ‘cause he can’t get the one he really wants.”

 

“That’s twisted, Daph,” I mutter. But I have to admit, she’s probably right. “Luckily, Brian’s not gay.”

 

Michael and Superman order some drinks very close to us. Daph and I both stand and watch them, not caring how obvious we’re being. 

 

“Hey! Isn’t that Emmett? From that one store on Liberty?” Daphne asks me, nodding to the tall man that just joined Michael and Superman. 

 

He must hear us because his eyes land on us and he smiles. Wide. He claps his hands and rushes over to us. “Hi!” His voice if full of excitement. “I was wondering if I’d run into you guys again.” Emmett gives Daphne the once over. “Wow, honey. You look beautiful.” She blushes slightly. He turns to me and licks his lips. “And you. Wow!” I give him a polite smile. I’m definitely not attracted to him and don’t want to send him the wrong signals. Although, he’s definitely the type of guy I would be friends with. He leans close to my face and gasps. “Oh, my God. What happened to your eye?” He examines me a little longer and then grins. “You know what? That’s kind of hot. Come on! Lemme introduce you to my friends,” he says, grabbing our hands and pulling us toward Michael and Superman. Fuck. 

 

Daphne sneers silently as Emmett drags us. We end up being pushed into a somewhat bored looking man who’s just joined Michael. 

 

“Sorry, Teddy,” Emmett laughs. “Justin. Daphne. This is Ted Schmidt. Teddy, this is Justin and Daphne.” We shake hands. 

 

Recognition dawns on Michael’s face and he grimaces. It’s not obvious, but I think it’s because I’m staring at him so intently that I notice his reaction. Well, good. 

 

“This is Ben,” Emmett tells us, introducing us to the man who looks like Superman. “And this is his partner, Michael.” Michael shakes our hands.

 

“We’ve met Michael before,” Daphne announces to the group, smiling sweetly. 

 

Michael pales and then a dark blush covers his cheeks as the rest of the group look at him expectantly. “Yeah,” he explains. “Uh, we met at Brian’s loft.”

 

“When was this?” Ben asks. He’s not being accusatory, just curious. 

 

Michael blushes some more when Daphne answers, “Sometime last week. Michael came by the loft unannounced while Brian was at work--”

 

She’s interrupted. “Can’t I ever get rid of you two?” It’s Brian. 

 

What the hell is he doing here?! I spin around to face him and my mouth dries up. He looks so edible. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him in casual clothing. Well, beside that first night when I lost my wallet. But he wasn’t really dressed. Sweats don’t count. Although, he did look pretty tantalizing then, too. 

 

Brian’s talking to the group, but I can’t seem to focus on his words; only that sweet mouth saying them. All around us, men are checking him out. How is it a straight man can hold his own at a club like Babylon?

 

“First the diner and now Babylon,” Daphne jokes. “You better watch out or Justin’ll think you’re gay and try to fuck you.” 

 

Brian drops the beer he’s ordered, stepping away from the bar quickly before any of the liquid can stain his clothing. Confusion washes over his face as he turns to look at me. The rest of the group begins to snicker. 

 

And then Brian grins.

 

Have you ever been hit with a sudden sense of dread? Well, that’s just happened to me. And for some reason, I have a feeling that it’ll be followed closely by humiliation.

 

“What? But, Brian is...” Emmett doesn’t finish whatever he was going to say because this guy comes up to Brian and whispers something in his ear. Brian pulls back and looks him over. 

 

He turns back to me and raises his brow. “Straight?” He asks, licking his lips suggestively, holding my stare for a moment longer before grabbing the guy’s belt loop and leading the man towards the... back room? What?

 

“Where’s he going?” Daphne asks.

 

“To his wicked ways,” Ben answers, following Brian with his eyes. 

 

I turn to look at Daphne, my mouth open. “What?” I can’t quite comprehend what they’re talking about.

 

Daphne laughs and pats my back. 

 

“You’re telling me you didn’t know that Brian’s family?” Emmett asks, mouth agape in wonder. “I mean...” He trails off as I blush a mortifying shade of red. “How could you not know? He’s so... gay.”

 

I wheel around. “One more,” I yell at the bartender.

 

 

Of course, one more turns into three more and I find myself dancing a storm with half the men in Babylon.

 

I’m a fool. 

 

The alcohol in my system has yet to erase the utter embarrassment I feel right now. I really need another drink. Maybe two more will do the trick. I can’t face them anymore. 

 

I stuck around long enough to hear that not only is Brian gay, he tricks like there’s no tomorrow. And, get this, he doesn’t “do” love or relationships or anything... well... normal. Which, I guess, is good. I mean, at least I won’t have the option of making a fool of myself even more by trying to date the man.

 

Oh my God. It hits me. I _could_ date Brian. In theory. Because he’s... gay.

 

I still have so many questions. Like, what about Lindsay? And Gus? 

 

I haven’t felt this confused in a long time. 

 

“I could use a drink,” I say to the man dancing in front of me. 

 

He smiles. “I could buy you one.” Generous. I nod and he rushes off. Mm, the power. He comes back moments later, a beer in his hands. I down the beer, letting the cold liquid glide down my throat. Some of it leaks out of my mouth. I use my arm to wipe it off, aware that the man is watching me intently. 

 

“What’s your name?” I ask him, handing him the beer, but he shakes his head.

 

“Trevor,” he answers. “Here.” He pulls out a plastic bag full of little pills. 

 

I know I shouldn’t, but I still can’t swallow the humiliation I felt when I found out about Brian. What kind of homosexual doesn’t have gaydar? So, I hold out my hand for some of the drugs. He grins, pouring out three of them and nodding to my beer.

 

“Take them with that. They’ll work faster that way.”

 

I do as he suggests, finishing the rest of my beer in one horrifyingly huge gulp. I sputter, dropping the bottle to the floor and kicking it away from me.

 

He places his hands around my waist and pulls me closer. We dance and finally, all the alcohol I’ve had tonight is taking effect. But, has to be the drugs that’s making the club around me hazy and muffled.

 

I’m starting to lose balance; to lose control of my body. I decide that I don’t like these drugs. Trevor’s watching me intently and, fuck, I know I just walked into a trap. “I woulda let you fuck me anyway,” I slur. “This wasn’t necessary.” Is it really that much easier to drug someone up than it is to pick them up? 

 

At least he has the decency to blush. “How was I supposed to know that?”

 

“I’m dancing with you, aren’t I?” I ask. Wow. It’s like everything around me is so clear, but... not. Like those dreams where you know what you’re looking at, but you can’t quite see it. 

 

Trevor shrugs. “Had to make sure.”

 

What a fucking loser. I shake my head and turn from him, ready to walk away. 

 

“Where do you think you’re going?” He asks, gripping my arm until it hurts. The tone of his voice alerts me.

 

“To my friends. I’m going home.”

 

“With me.”

 

“No,” I demand, tearing my arm away from his grasp. “With them.”

 

I stumble blindly on the dance floor, instinctively making my way toward the bar. Trevor’s behind me the whole time. 

 

Finally, I see Daphne, giggling with Emmett, who’s talking with loud gestures. They lean against each other and I reach out. 

 

“Daphne,” I croak, practically falling into her confused arms. Trevor backs away, the crowd covering his tracks. “I’m high,” I tell her.

 

She sighs, “You’re drunk.” She’s about to say more when her eyes widen and she looks back at me, biting her lip. Brian must’ve returned. That’s the only explanation.

 

Sure enough, he’s sauntering over to us as if nothing has changed. He even fucking smiles at me. I guess for him, nothing _has_ changed. But for me... it’s like my whole concept of reality is off kilter. 

 

Especially with these drugs in my system.

 

He orders himself a shot of whiskey and I take personal pride in the fact that we both drink the same type of alcohol. 

 

No one mentions my little blunder; my huge mistake. Good. I start to giggle at my stupidity.

 

Brian studies me, holding my gaze before glancing at my chest to check out my breathing, I suppose. “What are you on?” He asks.

 

Daphne explains, “He’s drunk, Brian.”

 

But I shake my head. “No, no, no. Only had a few,” I tell him, holding up my hand and verbally counting off the alcohol I’ve consumed. 

 

“You shouldn’t mix hard liquor with beer,” Brian leans in. “You’ll get a nasty headache.”

 

“I’m high,” I try to tell them again. 

 

Amused, Brian settles against the bar, pulling me closer. I must remember to mark this occasion as the first time Brian touched me out of his own volition. I mean _touched_ me. Like in a flirtatious, teasing way. Yeah. _Now_ it’s painfully obvious that he’s queer. “Oh?” He asks. “On what?”

 

“Dunno. Trevor gave ‘em to me.”

 

All the humor leaves his face. “Who’s that?” He asks.

 

I shrug. “Some guy I was dancing with. Kinda cute.”

 

Daphne’s suddenly next to his side, talking to me with rushed words. “You know you shouldn’t take drugs from strangers. Especially if you don’t know what’s in the drugs. What if you’re allergic? You could _die_ , Justin.”

 

At least these drugs aren’t making me paranoid. “Calm down, Daf-IH-nee,” I pronounce her name with great accuracy. Brian’s arm is still holding me in place. This really shouldn’t feel as good as it does. I mean, God, he’s hardly touching me. But his hands are on my body and he’s gay and that makes it incredible. “If I was ‘llergic to ‘em, which I’m not, I’d already be having a reaction.” 

 

“But--”

 

I shake my head. “Don’t worry, Taffy Laffy Daffy,” I giggle at my own stupidity. “This isn’t as bad as some drugs I’ve taken. Remember our Winter Formal junior year?” I have the sudden overwhelming urge to sit down. 

 

“Justin,” Brian begins, placing his hands beneath my arms to hold me up. “This isn’t exactly the safest place to sit.”

 

“Brian,” I say slowly. “Bri... an... Brian... Siren... Lion... Zion... Uh... Hawaiian...”

 

Daphne laughs nervously. “He’s talking in rhymes. That means he’ll soon be out in the next stratosphere. I need to get him home.”

 

“Come on, Sunshine,” Brian tells me, standing me up straight, wiping imaginary lint off my clothing. “I’ll help you to your car.”

 

“This is the second time you’ve saved me. My hero,” I tease, nodding. Before he can lead us out of the club, though, I press my hands firmly against his face. “I thought you is... was...” I stumble, trying to find the correct word. “Straight.”

 

He snorts, the noise echoing beautifully in my head. “Yes. I know.”

 

“You aren’t though,” I tell him rather than ask. I might as well be slobbering over him. “That’s good.” He helps me walk, wrapping an arm around my waist as I make a clumsy bee line for the exit. “I was embarrassed. So I drank. Then Trevor came ‘round and I couldn’t forget bein’ embarrassed yet so I asked for a drink. I drank. Then he offered me some pills. I took.” I stop walking and look at the dance floor conspiratorially. “His drugs are bad,” I whisper.

 

Brian nods, humoring me, I’m sure. “I’ll punish him later,” he promises.

 

“No,” I disagree. “You should punish me instead.”


	8. Building Blocks

Brian

 

Christ, this kid’s gonna give me an aneurysm. 

 

Justin’s right, this is the second time he’s found himself in my arms, on the verge of passing out. I’m practically carrying his bumbling ass outside. Let’s not talk about the level of responsibility I feel for him. Or why I feel this way. Instead, let’s talk about Justin thinking I’m straight. 

 

Me. Brian Kinney. Straight? 

 

Either he doesn’t have gaydar or I’m losing my touch.

 

Daphne turns to me. “My car’s around back, Brian. Can you wait with him while I get it?” Like she has to ask.

 

I lean Justin up against the brick wall, underneath the neon glow that brightly announces Babylon to the world. Placing one hand on his stomach to keep him upright, my other hand reaches into my pocket to pull out a pack of cigarettes.

 

“Want one?” I hold the pack in front of Justin. His eyes are glazed and he merely smiles at me. 

 

Never take free drugs from some trick trying to fuck you. Everyone knows this.

 

And never drink so much if it turns you into a pool of rambling idiodacy. Yet, there’s something so endearing about the way Justin’s been stumbling and babbling. 

 

Still. What an idiot.

 

Justin’s voice is soft, but strangely sober considering his condition when he asks, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

 

The side of his face is rubbing against the cool brick, his eyes huge. 

 

“How could you not know?” I tease, turning on my side to look at him. He has such white skin. And his hair, it reflects all sorts of lights. God, he truly is a gorgeous creature.

 

Justin’s reaction is slow. “But... you have a son,” he states, as if that is the end all. 

 

Shrugging, I grin at him. “Mere formalities.”

 

Daphne’s small black car drives up to the curb and she honks the horn. I hate small cars. I hate how even their horns sound cute.

 

“Come on,” I tell Justin, pushing off the wall and carefully gripping his elbow. I steady him and then we slowly make our way to Daphne’s car. 

 

I pull open the door, but before I can tuck him in, he wheels around. “You should’ve told me,” his voice is strong, even though his words slur together.

 

His words make me feel... bad. Ashamed. As if I meant to deceive him. “Why?” 

 

I’m expecting a big production. Hell, I’m used to this type of shit. What with Mikey and Lindsay... 

 

But what Justin says... surprises me. He throws me a brilliant smile and lets out a near seductive laugh. “Because, Mr. Kinney,” he runs his hands down my shirt, resting his fingertips inside the top of my pants. “We could’ve been fucking weeks ago.”

 

Before I have time to react, he tangles his hands in my hair and pulls me down quickly for a searing kiss. Even with all the drugs and alcohol in his system, his kiss is perfect. He’s caressing the inside of my mouth with determination, moaning in such a sexy and tempting way, it’s almost dangerous.

 

Justin’s hands leave my hair too soon. His tongue brushes the roof of my mouth one last time before he slides out of my arms and into Daphne’s car. 

 

I’m left, breathless and amazed, watching them drive away. 

 

“Well, well, well,” Emmett’s voice startles me out of whatever daze I’m in. “That was some kiss, Brian.”

 

“Fuck off,” I tell him, wanting, so badly, to go back inside, but I can’t. I’m still staring in the direction Justin left, my mouth open in wonder.

 

Emmett glides up next to me, following my gaze before I have a chance to look elsewhere. “He’s cute.”

 

“Mm hmm.” The way Emmett’s looking at me, as if he knows something important, is making me nervous. I place another cigarette in between my lips, offering him one before I light up. He declines, which is to be expected.

 

“And nice,” Emmett continues. I roll my eyes. “He and Daphne came into Torso a couple times. He’s such a sweetie. Smart, too. And personable. You should’ve seen--”

 

“Emmett,” I cut him off. He straightens his back in a mock butch pose, ready to argue. Instead, I surprise him and say, “I know all this.”

 

Emmett’s mouth drops open, but he recovers quickly. “So...” Emmett trails off. So... what? I turn to him and hold out my hands, indicating that he should continue. “I bet he’s stellar in bed. With that ass, I can’t imagine him to be anything less than a fabulous fuck. What do you think?” 

 

I could just ignore him, but instead, as I’m inhaling the smoke, I mutter, “How the hell would I know? After all, he thought it was _straight_.”

 

“But you knew he’s gay right away?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“But you haven’t fucked him?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Biting back a smile, Emmett wraps his arms around his body and says, “Let make sure I’m understanding this whole situation. He obviously thinks you’re the best thing since vibrating dildos, but mistook you for being straight. All the while, you think he’s a little hottie and, in a manner so unlike yourself, you decide... not to fuck him?”

 

“It never came up.”

 

He raises his eyebrows and laughs. “You? Or him?”

 

I can feel my eyebrows furrow with confusion and then I realize he’s joking. “Not like that. I mean...”

 

He’s laughing hysterically now, clutching my arm to balance himself as he wipes his tears away. “You should’ve seen your face. Priceless.”

 

I shake him off and flick my cigarette into the street. “You can continue your fit out here and freeze your ass off. I, on the other hand, am going back inside and getting laid.”

 

Emmett follows me, stopping me before I can reenter Babylon. “Wait,” he demands, breathless. “What about Justin?”

 

“What about Justin?”

 

“Well, he... I mean, you... That kiss was... Incredible... Aren’t you going to...”

 

“What? Follow him home and fuck his brains out?”

 

Emmett looks taken aback “Well, yeah. I mean, you’re never one to back down from something like that. I’ve seen men proposition themselves before, but you’ve never... been so affected.”

 

I wasn’t affected, dammit. I was surprised, is all. “Look, Emmett. You can live in your own little romantic queer kingdom, but me? I’d rather just get my dick sucked.”

 

“Tell that to Justin,” Emmett cautions me as I open the door. “He’s looking for a happily ever after.”

 

“Then he’s going to have to look somewhere else. It was just a kiss, Emmett. I’ve been kissed before.”

 

I leave him outside and let the familiarity of Babylon warm my skin. 

 

My lips are burning from Justin’s kiss and I can’t help but think that maybe, in fact, I haven’t been kissed like that before. Like it meant something. 

 

Even after all the shit I’ve just fed Emmett, I can’t help but feel as though I’ve told the biggest lie of my life. 

 

Oh.

 

Wow.

 

What the hell am I thinking? He’s just a kid. 

 

A kid with a great ass and even greater smile; a wonderful laugh and perfect sense of humor; determined skills and a brilliant mind.

 

No. This isn’t usual. I don’t think these things. 

 

It’s probably because I’ve cut back on tricking so much, it’s affecting me mentally. I haven’t had dick in a week, that has to be why I’m pining away. I let my eyes search Babylon for a fix; something to help me stop thinking like... someone with a crush. I don’t do crushes. I do men; many men.

 

There’s a tall brunet in the corner, smiling suggestively at me. Yeah. He’ll do.

 

 

Justin

 

Daphne and I are eating breakfast at the Liberty Diner. She has this amazed look on her face as she studies me pick at my food. Not that I blame her. Because I, Justin Taylor, kissed Brian Kinney. I kissed him with more passion than I ever thought possible; than I’ve ever felt in my entire life. And I have a witness, and she’s eating breakfast right across from me.

 

Even though I spent half the night hugging my toilet, I’m in such a chipper mood this morning. When I emerged from the bathroom, hair tousled, breath rank, the only thing I wanted to do was die. And then, while I was drowning in coffee, I remembered Brian. I remembered that he’s gay. And that I kissed him. I conveniently pushed aside the memories of me being a complete fool. Who cares about that when I had my tongue down his throat?

 

“He’s gay, Daph,” I inform her for the umpteenth time.

 

“And you kissed him,” She repeats, grinning madly. “I mean, _really_ kissed him.”

 

We’re both feeling pretty damn proud right now.

 

A shadow hides my breakfast and I look up. It’s Lindsay, with Gus in a carrier. “Justin?” She asks, hesitantly. “I don’t know if you remember me...”

 

“Yeah. Lindsay, right? Want to join us?” I ask her, scooting closer to the wall in order to make room for her.

 

“No. Actually...” She trails off and blushes. I’m immediately intrigued.

 

“What?” I ask, grinning at Gus, who’s drooling happily onto his bib. “Hey, Gus,” I say. “I’m Justin. Remember me?” He giggles loudly and reaches out for me. Ah. If wonder if his father is anything like this. Yeah right. I remember what all his friends said about him last night. Brian is not the type of guy who would be in a relationship. Dammit, a kid can dream, can’t he?

 

“He really likes you,” Lindsay smiles, taking Gus out of the carrier and handing him to me. He shrieks and starts to gnaw on my neck as I hold him against my chest. “Listen...” She begins again.

 

I smile encouragingly at her. “What is it, Lindsay?” 

 

She sighs. “My wife left some important papers at our house and she needs them for a trial. Unfortunately, the courthouse is quite the drive from here. I have to drive them to her, but Gus hates long car rides. I can’t get a hold of Brian or any of our other friends and I really need to do this for Melanie. I know you don’t know me that well... Hell, I don’t know you too well, but Brian seemed to like you well enough and you seem pretty laid back and Gus really likes you--”

 

“You need me to baby-sit?” I interrupt, gripping Gus tightly as he begins to dance in my lap.

 

She’s glowing. “Could you?”

 

“Sure,” I shrug, glancing at Daphne. “I have nothing better to do.”

 

“Oh, my God. You’re a lifesaver. But, listen, I have to leave like right away...”

 

“Oh.” I start to slide out of the booth, but then stop. “Uh, Lindsay. I... We don’t live in a very good neighborhood--”

 

She laughs and shakes her head. “Don’t worry about that. If you want to come home with me right now, you can stay at my place and watch him. Actually, I’d prefer that. I’ll leave a message with Brian, so hopefully he’ll come relieve you as soon as he can.” 

 

Brian. I almost forgot about him for like, a minute. Personal best, I think.

 

Daphne laughs softly. I so want to glare at her, but instead, I grin widely. 

 

“Can Daphne come?” I ask, standing up, cradling Gus to my body. 

 

 

So, Lindsay’s married... Not to Brian, or any man for that matter. 

 

That’s good.

 

Daphne’s curled up on the couch, watching TV while Gus naps in his playpen. I’m snooping around, of course. Not going through their drawers or anything, just checking out the space. Lindsay and her wife, Melanie, have done well for themselves. This is a great house. But, God, what is it about lesbians and earth tones? This place could really use some color. And if they tear down this wall, they could make the kitchen so much more spacious--

 

Ah. Spoken like a true carpenter. 

 

There’s a wall covered in family photographs. Brian’s in many, some of which I can tell were taken when he and Lindsay were around my age. He hasn’t really changed. I squint as I look at a photograph of them in graduation robes. No. Brian’s gotten better looking with age. 

 

I’m tempted to go upstairs, but I feel like that’s invading their privacy too much. Instead, I wander back to the living room and settle next to Daph on the couch. 

 

“Oooh,” I exclaim, when I see the screen. “Turn this up! I love this show!” I kick off my shoes and lay on my side, my head in Daphne’s lap. 

 

We eventually drift off, the soft talking on screen lulls us to sleep.

 

 

Gus’ sharp cry wakes me up with a start. Daphne’s a deep sleeper, so it’s no wonder she doesn’t stir as Gus beings to wail. A tall figure bends over to pick Gus up and when he turns around, I see that it’s Brian. I don’t think he sees us on the couch because he starts whispering to his son, bouncing him gently in his arms. 

 

I’m given a rare moment to watch Brian unreserved and it’s a wonderful sight. “You’re so good with him,” I whisper, sliding off the couch. He jumps, but recovers quickly.

 

“I didn’t see you,” he answers, glancing over at Daphne, who’s begun her soft snoring. “Deep sleeper?”

 

“A fucking log.”

 

He smiles softly at me, searching my face, making me self-conscious. “Want some coffee or something?” He asks, motioning to the kitchen.

 

“Sure.” My heart thunders in my chest. I’m beginning to feel inadequate again. He’s so... high maintenance, it seems. His fancy loft, expensive clothing, top of the line jeep... it all calls out money. Something I don’t have. “I’m sorry about last night,” I blurt out after he hands Gus over to me so that he can start the coffee. 

 

His hands stop moving and I expect him to make some snide comment, but instead, he shrugs his shoulders. “I just hope you learned your lesson. Don’t take drugs with people you don’t know.”

 

“I was apologizing for kissing you.”

 

“Oh,” he remarks. “Don’t apologize for that.” He pours water in the coffee machine and presses the on button. He jumps onto the counter, his long legs making the movement easy for him. “Beside, I liked it.”

 

You know those moments when you feel as though you can die right then and be absolutely content? When he says that, I swear I’d die happy. 

 

“I did, too,” I whisper, hiding my joy in Gus’ soft hair. 

 

“Hey.”

 

I look up and he’s watching me, a sweet little smile softening his face. 

 

“What?” 

 

“I’m gay,” he answers, shrugging his shoulders and leaning into the cabinets behind him. “I don’t want you to feel like... I deceived you.”

 

“No. Of course not,” I’m quick to answer. “I should’ve known.”

 

He laughs. “Yeah, you should have. But, I’m not some nelly queen...”

 

“Obviously, my gaydar needs some improvement.”

 

“Or, perhaps, you lack gaydar all together?”

 

I laugh, relieved that there isn’t any awkwardness between the two of us. I really like him. “Probably.”

 

Daphne stumbles in, rubbing the back of her neck. “Fuck, that couch is the most uncomfortable place to sleep,” she yawns, unaware of Brian’s presence.

 

“I could’ve told you that.” He laughs when she jumps a foot off the ground.

 

She throws a furtive glance between me and Brian before smelling the air. “Mmm, coffee,” she sighs.

 

“How long have you been asleep?” He asks, amused.

 

Shrugging, Daphne studies the clock on the microwave. “Two hours.”

 

Brian snorts and rolls his eyes. “Are you always this glazed when you wake up?”

 

I nod behind her back as she denies the statement’s validity.

 

Gus begins to whine impatiently. “I think it’s time for you to feed my son,” Brian tells us.

 

Daphne pulls out a bottle from the fridge and heats it up. I wonder how she’s gotten this good at being a mother, considering how very little time time she spends with children. I’m almost frightened to think about Daphne having her own children because I don’t think she’d ever stop. I doubt she’d settle for anything less than three. Looking at Gus, I can’t imagine being able to take care of even one. 

 

She tests the bottle on her wrist, grinning in satisfaction. Instead of gathering Gus in her arms and feeding him, however, she smirks and walks over to Brian. “I think it’s time _you_ feed your son.” 

 

He grumbles, but accepts the bottle, sliding off the counter. “I’m telling Lindsay about this. This is why you’re getting paid,” but the softness in his face as he reaches for his son takes any of the bite out of his words. 

 

“Actually,” I say. “We’re doing this for free. Out of our own goodwill.”

 

“That’s...”

 

“Kind? Sweet? Nice?” I offer.

 

“Stupid.”

 

Huffing, I cross my arms over my chest. 

 

Before I can give my witty retort, Daphne laughs. “Come on. Let’s watch some TV.”

 

“God,” Brian says. “Kids and their TVs.” But he follows her out to the living room, settling on one end. Daphne sits on the other end, leaving me no choice but to squeeze in between them. Brian’s bare shoulder brushes my arm and I close my eyes briefly, reveling in the touch. 

 

With my eyes closed, all my senses become more acute. I can hear Brian breathing softly next to me; slow and heavy. His warmth is shooting into my body in waves, pulsating through me. The smell of cigarettes is faint underneath the musky odor of his cologne. I inhale deeply, the scent making me feel reminiscent for something I’ve never had before, but have wanted desperately my whole life. I pull my legs up to my chest and wrap my arms around them. 

 

“That can’t be too comfortable,” Brian says. My eyes snap open. He gestures to my chosen position and I hug my legs tighter. 

 

Brian complains a little while later. “I think my son needs to be changed.”

 

When I don’t rush to volunteer, Daphne sighs, hoisting herself noisily off the couch. “I’ll do it,” she says, holding her arms out for Gus.

 

Brian looks amused. He sticks his tongue in his cheek before asking, “You like changing diapers? Kinky.”

 

“Shut up,” Daphne snickers. “I like children, that’s all.”

 

We watch her retreating back. I’m pretty sure I should scoot over and give Brian some room, but my body won’t move. I enjoy being pressed against him like this. Every once in a while, he shifts, causing his jean clad legs to rub against my bare arm. I can feel the small hairs on the back of my neck lift with excitement. 

 

Resting my cheek on top of my knees, I take a risk and use our time together to contemplate Brian’s features. He has such a strong profile and for the first time in weeks, I have the sudden desire to draw. Everything about him is so prominent--his nose, chin, and lips. I want to capture it all in charcoal. Or maybe ink. I’m so focused on the way his jaw attaches to the back of his ear and the perfection of it that I don’t notice Brian slowly move his head to look at me until I’m staring into his eyes.

 

“What?” I ask, my stomach knotting up with anxiousness.

 

“I could ask the same thing.”

 

Blushing, I lift my shoulders and let them fall again in a lazy shrug. “Just... admiring the scenery.”

 

“I could say the same thing,” he repeats. 

 

“Shut up,” I practically whisper, my mouth dry from nerves.

 

He turns to face me completely, his back resting against the arm of the couch. “You’re beautiful,” he tells me, reaching out to run his fingers through my hair. 

 

“Not as beautiful as you,” I argue, boldly changing positions so that I’m facing him, knees spread around his legs, almost straddling him. 

 

His hand moves from my hair to my cheek, brushing against it with the pads of his fingers. 

 

I don’t know what he wants from me and I’m not quite sure what, in the long run, I want from him, but I know, at this moment, the only thing I need is to kiss him. So I do. I, again, initiate our kiss. His lips open to mine immediately, as if he’s waiting for this and I grin before losing myself in his warm, soft kiss. 

 

I feel his tongue brush my lips and that does it. I fall into his lap, pressing my body firmly into his own, moving my hand down to cup his groin. He makes a soft noise of pleasure, wrapping my body in his arms and dipping his hands into the back of my jeans. His hands are hot and dry, just how I like them. He slides them underneath my briefs and grips my ass firmly, causing me to moan loudly. I can feel him smirk against my lips. 

 

My hands fumble with the button of his jeans, finally able pull the zipper down. The slowness of my movement causes Brian to lift his hips in anticipation. He’s not wearing anything under his jeans and I break the kiss to glance down, my hand cradling his semi-hard cock. He butts his forehead against mine and I look into his eyes. 

 

“Don’t start anything you can’t finish,” he whispers, moving his own fingers to a certain part of my body. 

 

I gasp, “You too.” He digs deeper and my eyes flutter shut. I go from thinking Brian’s straight to having his fingers up my ass in less than twenty-four hours. Awesome.

 

His cock twitches in my hand and I give it a tight squeeze before forcing my eyes open. His own eyes are boring into mine with such intensity that I can’t breath. I wonder what he’s thinking. What does he see when he looks at me? I lose all rational thought as his tongue creeps out of his mouth and pushes into mine. I practically swallow his tongue, stroking his penis with renewed urgency. 

 

Brian’s fingers push against me and I gasp. “Yeah,” I murmur, sighing as he brushes against that spot deep inside me.

 

I’m about to open my mouth to his tongue once more when I hear a laugh behind us. We tear away from each other and find Daphne, covering Gus’ eyes with her hand, laughing hysterically. 

 

What a way to ruin the mood.

* * *

This is a long one, but I couldn't figure out how to divide it up into different chapters, so I left it as is. Also, thank you, everybody, for the fabulous reviews and wonderful emails. I'm so in love with each and every one of you. >.


	9. Building Blocks

Brian

 

I can still hear Daphne giggling as I close the bathroom door. 

 

I stumble to the toilet and sit down, ready to spend the rest of the day in this small, tiled room. Anything’s better then being out there with them.

 

I can still feel him, tight, around my fingers. God, my lips must be shredded. I resist the urge to bring my hand to my mouth in order to feel the swell of my lips. I sigh and open the little window next to the toilet, searching my pockets for my cigarettes. 

 

It’s like I lost all control out there. 

 

Jesus Chris. When did I become so attracted to him?

 

I light my cigarette and inhale deeply. I really should quit. I spend a small fortune each year on these fucking cancerous piece of shits. I must buy a pack every other day now. That’s three times a week. Twenty times four... I spend close to eighty dollars a month on cigarettes. 

 

Doing this sort of mundane math has calmed my nerves--like what counting sheep is supposed to do when you can’t sleep. 

 

What I don’t understand, though, is why my nerves are all shot? I am, as Mikey has reminded me thousands of times before, Brian Kinney for fuck’s sake. And being Brian Kinney means usually being immune to whatever has been happening to me since I met Justin. 

 

I scratch my head thoughtfully. I know I found him attractive since that first moment I opened the loft door, but when did it become so... overwhelming? And, really, if I’m so attracted to him, why haven’t I fucked him yet? My hands press against my temples. I’m getting a headache.

 

There’s a knock on the bathroom door.

 

“Brian?” Justin’s voice calls through the door. “Are you going to come out?”

 

I snort.

 

“I mean, out of the bathroom,” he laughs at his word choice. “You can’t hide in there forever. Or, if you do, you should let me in. I can’t face Daphne alone.”

 

I contemplate telling him to fuck off. I even start to feel my mouth open to let the words roll off my tongue, but instead, I find myself reaching across the sink and unlocking the bathroom door, turning the handle slightly as an invitation. He slides in without opening the door completely. 

 

“Smoking in the bathroom. How very high school of you,” he smirks, grabbing my pack from between my legs. He picks up the lighter off the sink and expertly lights his cigarette, settling across from me on the large tub, content, it seems, to just be in here with me. 

 

The added smoke from Justin’s cigarette is too much for the small bathroom. The air around us becomes foggy and my eyes begin to sting. Justin’s blinking rapidly and I wave my hand in the air to move the smoke around. 

 

He laughs, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “Yeah. Fuck. This is just like high school. Except normally we’d be in a single stall, practically sitting in each other’s laps.” He stops rubbing at his eyes and blushes, glancing quickly at me before flicking his ash into the tub behind him.

 

I toss my cigarette into the sink and turn on the faucet, letting the water run over the embers. I stand up and stretch, noticing how Justin’s eyes follow my every movement. “We can make it just like high school,” I tell him in a low voice. 

 

“Oh?” He asks, grinning in confusion. “How’s that?”

 

I move toward him until my the top of my calves brush his bent knees. “Like this,” I say, pushing him into the tub, stretching out, my hands rushing to cover the back of his head before it hits the bottom. I step into the tub and slowly slide down to my knees, straddling his stomach. I’m enthralled by the way his pupils grow and his eyes darken. A natural flush warms his face and neck as his breath quickens. I tuck my hands beneath his arms and help him lift into a semi-sitting position. 

 

“I don’t know what high school you went to, but _we_ didn’t have whirlpools in the bathrooms,” he jokes and it’s the casual way he’s handling this situation that tips the scales for me.

 

I want him. And I’ll have him.

 

I lean down, my lips only brushing his. He makes a disappointed noise and juts out his chin. I run my tongue down his chin and across his neck, laving at the skin right above his collar. He sighs and offers more of his neck to me, so I pull down the neck of shirt and nibble at his collarbone. Justin has such soft skin. I don’t think I’ve ever been with someone who’s skin is as unblemished and perfect as Justin’s. 

 

He lets out a small whimper when I bite, hard, at the skin between his neck and shoulder. 

 

“Brian.” He can hardly say my name.

 

I swirl my tongue behind his ear and then pull back to study him. 

 

“Brian,” he repeats, obviously wanting to say something. 

 

And I want to let him talk, but I have the sudden urge to bite his earlobe. I swoop down and gather the soft skin in my mouth. He gasps and stretches the back of my shirt. 

 

“Oh, Brian,” he moans as I lick my way across to his other ear. It really should be illegal for someone to taste as sweet as Justin does. There’s no trace of a soap or cologne; nothing chemical-like burning my tongue. 

 

The noises Justin makes are low... quiet. Like he’s trying to keep this between the two of us. As I suck on his neck, leaving my signature on his body the way I’ve never marked a man before, I find myself addicted to the small sounds of pleasure he makes. They’re so private and restricted. God. I want to make him scream. I want him to wake up this boring, conventional neighborhood. 

 

Finally, I lower my lips to his, kissing him gently. His full bottom lip begs for attention. 

 

He mumbles something, his words sucked into my mouth before I can understand them. 

 

“What?” I gasp.

 

“I want you to fuck me,” he whispers, pushing his groin into my ass. He’s as hard as a rock. 

 

“And I want to fuck you,” I answer back, reaching into my back pocket for a condom and some lube. I show him the items and he groans, licking his lips. “I’m going to fuck you right here.”

 

He nods hungrily, sliding his hands under my shirt, lifting it away from my body. I raise my arms and help him take my shirt off. 

 

“Your pants,” he demands. “Take off your pants too.”

 

“Patience.” It’s difficult to maneuver in the empty bathtub, no matter how big it is. 

 

“No. No patience.” He’s already unzipping my jeans and trying to push them down my spread thighs. The zipper brushes against my cock and I grab his hands to still his movements.

 

“Careful,” I warn him. “Or I won’t have a dick to fuck you with.”

 

“Yes, fuck me with it.” He’s losing coherent thought. 

 

Because of me.

 

And that’s so hot.

 

I hoist my body onto my knees, dragging my pants down as far as they can go. 

 

“No. All the way,” he bites out. “I want them all the way off.”

 

I’m agreeable. I stand up and rip off my shoes in order to get my jeans off. 

 

“Oh, God,” he moans, eyeing my naked body like a hawk. At least I know he likes what he sees.

 

I help Justin move so that he’s laying vertically in the tub, allowing his body to stretch out. “Do me,” he says, struggling to sit upright. “I wanna be naked, too.” 

 

I grin. “Oh, there is no question that that’s gonna happen.” I sit across from him and pull off his shirt. 

 

“I see construction has done your body some favors,” I give him a full fledged smile, running my hand along his surprisingly well-defined muscles. Oh. He has his nipple pierced. He bites his lips when I twist it. 

 

The rest of his body proves just as rewarding. 

 

I don’t know what’s happening to me, but I find myself thinking that he is the most gorgeous man I’ve ever laid eyes on. 

 

I push him onto his back and the expression on his face makes me bark out a laugh. I don’t think he expects me to fuck him in this position. Maybe he’s even a bit self-conscious about it.

 

He seems so innocent and inexperienced as I place his legs on my shoulders. It’s... sweet. 

 

But that faux naivety disappears after I prepare him and push into his body for the first time. His eyes almost fly out of their sockets before he closes them and moans. There’s a brief moment when I think that all he’ll do is lay there while I fuck him, but that’s gone after I force myself all the way inside. 

 

He opens his eyes and nods, pulling away as I pull out and then pressing his ass onto my dick as I return. He clenches me so tightly that, when he first does it, I think I might come before I can leave his body for a second thrust. 

 

Justin senses my urgency and relaxes his muscles, still meeting each thrust, but not torturing me with an iron grip. At least, not until I’m fucking him at a frantic pace, his damp body rubbing noisily against the bottom of the tub. He makes it more difficult to pull out--his muscles clamping down on my cock with unbelievable force. I’m growling, from both the effort of pushing against the hold he has on my cock and the pleasure of being gripped with such force. 

 

I spit on my hand and begin to tug on his cock, which has been rubbing against my stomach, aching for attention. He lifts his back and moans loudly... but not loud enough. I swivel my hips and reach out to grasp his nipple ring. 

 

He screams. 

 

Yes. Much, much better.

 

I groan. 

 

“Brian,” he gasps, our breathing almost swallow his words. “Must. Come. Now.” He screams again and, with one last stroke of my hand on his dick, comes.

 

It’s like an avalanche. Every muscle in his body tightens, his hands squeezing my arms and ripping at my hair. I come not seconds after he does, both of us still groaning as we collapse.

 

Finally, after many long minutes of recovery, I stand up, yanking a whimpering Justin to his feet. Pulling the curtain around the bath, I turn on the shower.

 

“I don’t think I ever did that in high school. I think I like your version a lot better,” he laughs, leaning against the wall. He glances down at his hands. My eyes follow his gaze and I see that he’s shaking. “Wow.”

 

I want to say something witty. Something he’ll remember, but instead, I let out an incoherent moan. I move to lean into him, but my legs aren’t working. “I’m jelly,” I tell him, grinning nervously. I didn’t mean to say that.

 

Smiling, Justin pushes off the wall and into my arms. “At least I’m not the only one.”

 

I nod against his hair, inhaling deeply. 

 

“Brian,” he begins. “I’m glad you’re not straight.”

 

I can’t help it when I start to laugh. 

 

Hell, _I’m_ glad I’m not straight.

 

 

“Brian,” Lindsay’s greets us as we exit the bathroom. Justin nearly trips when he hears her voice, uneven blotches of red paint his face while he refuses to look at her. “Daphne said you were giving Justin a tour of the house.” 

 

Daphne grins from over Lindsay’s shoulder. “Yeah, next time it’s my turn for a... tour.” She exaggerates the last word, raising her eyebrows. “It sounded like you guys were having loads of fun.”

 

Justin clears his throat. “Loads,” he agrees, weakly. 

 

Daphne laughs heartily and takes Justin’s hand. “We have to get going,” she tells us. 

 

Lindsay follows them to the door. “Thank you so much.” She stops Justin from leaving. “Are you feeling okay?” She asks, concerned.

 

“I’m fine. Great, actually.” For the first time since we leave the bathroom, Justin smiles. There’s something in that smile that makes it shine so bright. I have to resist the urge to yell at Justin to go home; to stay in his apartment and never leave; to hide under his blankets and deny even the sunlight to affect him, because I don’t want anything to hinder that smile.

 

Post-coital mental retardation. Yes. That’s what this is. That’s what this feeling is.

 

Daphne tugs on Justin’s arm, pulling him outside. “Bye,” she calls out to us. 

 

I can literally feel my face droop when I hear their car start. 

 

“What’s the matter with you?” Lindsay questions when I continue to stare off into space for a good minute.

 

Shaking my head clear, I grin hesitantly. “Whaddya mean?”

 

“You,” she inspects my face. “You look like your dad ran over your kitten.”

 

That’s pathetic, even coming from Lindsay’s mouth. I walk into the living room and settle onto the couch, flipping on the TV and searching aimlessly for something decent to watch. Lindsay’s ogling me from the doorway, her face giving away her curiosity. Slowly, I see a wide smile stretch across her face.

 

Here we go.

 

“Did something happen?”

 

Refusing to take my eyes off the TV, I shrug. “Nope.”

 

She’s silent and just when I’m beginning to think that I got out of that interrogation too easily, she snickers. “Something _did_ happen.”

 

I turn up the volume of the TV and she begins to giggle. “So, you’re gonna ignore me. In the rare and difficult to understand language of Brian Kinney, that means something important happened and you’re not ready to talk about it, but it’s eating you alive.”

 

“No, in the common and fluent language of Brian Kinney, that means fuck off.” I lift myself off the couch and brush past her, heading for the door.

 

“Where are you going?” She asks, following me into the hall.

 

“Well, Gus doesn’t need me now that Mother Dyke is home. I thought I’d leave.”

 

Lindsay nods, opening the door for me. Right before I can slip out, she grabs my arm and says, “I’m going to get to the bottom of this. And when I do, you can bet your ass that I’ll be making fun of you about it for the rest of your life.” She raises her eyebrows, mocking me, and smiles that little deceptive grin she saves for only special occasions. Like when she thinks she’s one over Brian Kinney.

 

“Good luck,” I answer, smirking. 

 

I can feel her eyes on my back as I walk to my jeep. “See you tomorrow,” she calls.


	10. Building Blocks

Justin

 

“In the tub?” Daphne asks, her voice shrieking with excitement. “You fucked Brian Kinney in the bathtub?”

 

“No,” I say slowly. “He fucked me.”

 

“Same thing,” Daphne insists absently. She keeps glancing at me and I can catch a little bit of jealousy seeping through. Who wouldn’t be jealous? Brian’s fucking amazing. That was the most spectacular orgasm I’ve ever had. 

 

I laugh. “Uh, no, Daph. It’s not the same thing. To be fucked by someone is entirely different than to fuck someone,” I tell her in that snobby way I tend to use when I know something she doesn’t. It’s rare, so when it happens, I milk it for all it’s worth.

 

She waves her hand, dismissing my statement. “So... do you love him?”

 

“I don’t know. I mean, I didn’t even know he was gay until a couple nights ago. I know I like him... a lot...”

 

Daphne’s silent for a moment, before saying, “Do you think you could love him?”

 

“Yes,” I answer right away. Because I could. I just don’t know if I do yet. Love... love is such a fickle concept. 

 

“I have to ask this, Justin,” She grins. “How was it?”

 

I shrug. “Good,” I reply. She doesn’t get to know how phenomenal it was. The special way Brian made me feel, well, that’s all for me. Me alone.

 

“C’mon, Justin. Don’t be like that. Give me details,” she begs, opening her big brown eyes and fluttering her lashes. 

 

“Shouldn’t you be paying attention to the road,” I ask. Dammit. I hate when she does the whole I’m-Bambi-and-my-mommy-just-died-so-pity-me-and-do-whatever-I-say thing. ‘Cause it works every time. “Fine,” I grumble. “What do you wanna know?”

 

But before Daphne has time to ask the most embarrassing questions, my cell phone rings. I don’t recognize the number. Raising an eyebrow, I flip it open. “Yeah?”

 

_“Justin,”_ a female voice asks. _“It’s Lindsay Peterson.”_

 

“Oh. Hey, Lindsay. Is something wrong?” 

 

Daphne mouths “What’s going on?” But I hold up a hand to stall her as Lindsay proceeds to say, _“No. Nothing’s wrong. I wanted to call and thank you, again, for taking care of Gus. That was really thoughtful of you and I appreciate it.”_

 

“He wasn’t any trouble. Especially... with Brian there,” I can feel my cheeks heat up thinking about what we did in her bathroom. Shit. In her bathtub. I wonder, vaguely, if they use it on a regular basis. 

 

Lindsay laughs softly into the phone. _“Sometimes Brian’s a bigger handful than Gus.”_

 

I pause, unsure of whether or not I’m supposed to answer that. 

 

Lindsay continues, saying, _“Anyway, I think you and Daphne are great kids--”_ I huff and she corrects herself. I can hear the smile in her voice when she says, _“You are great_ people _. I think the rest of the gang would love you guys if given the chance. Listen, we’re having a family breakfast tomorrow at a friend’s house. I wanted to know if you and Daphne were interesting in joining us.”_

 

I shoot Daphne a look and lower the phone, covering the mouthpiece with my hand. “She’s inviting us to some family breakfast thingy tomorrow.”

 

“I’m in,” Daphne replies right away. Before I can open my mouth and argue, she says, “What? It’s free food, Justin.”

 

That’s true. I nod my head and put the phone back to my ear. “Sure. What time?”

 

 

Daphne makes me change out of the suit I initially put on this morning. 

 

“It’s an informal breakfast, Justin. We’re not going to a wedding banquet or anything.”

 

I’m grumpy about this right until we walk down the narrow cement pathway leading to a small house near Liberty Avenue. But when I hear the easy laughter and jovial voices from within, I’m glad Daph made me change.

 

My hand closes in on the doorbell, but before I have a chance to push the button, an older man opens to door.

 

“Welcome,” he says happily. “I’m Vic Grassi.”

 

“Daphne.” Daphne stretches out her hand to introduce herself.

 

I do the same. “Justin.”

 

Vic has such a warm smile. I’m reminds of my dad, for some reason. Oh, yeah. That christmas when I was seventeen and he bought me a laptop. I remember him being so eagerly compliant, waiting with an expectant grin on his face as I tore off the wrapping. It wasn’t what I asked for. I wanted a stainless steel, adjustable paint easel and I remember... well, being a bratty teenager about it, but now... Now, I wouldn’t replace that look on his face for the most expensive art product in the world. 

 

I have to look away from Vic because he reminds me of a life, and a father, I will never have again. As if sensing my distress, Daphne places a comforting hand on the small of my back. She grins softly at me. God, I love her.

 

Vic ushers us into the living room and everyone stops talking to take in our presence, smiling and waving as they recognize us. 

 

“I think I’m the only person you haven’t met,” a brunette woman says, crossing the room. “I’m Melanie Marcus. Lindsay’s wife. We appreciate all that you did for us yesterday.”

 

It really wasn’t big deal. 

 

Lindsay drags me further into the room, squawking noisily with Melanie and Daphne. 

 

“Who the hell are you?” A woman screeches from behind us. I bite my tongue when she comes into my line of sight. She’s, uh, unique, to say the least. “You are to die for!” She painfully pinches my cheeks. I smile warily at her and she snorts. “C’mon. I’m sure you’ve got a better smile than that laying underneath this beautiful face, Sunshine.” Even though I’m frightened by her, I have to smile when she says that. Sunshine. There’s that name again. I like it much more when Brian says it. “There it is! Wow. You’re fucking adorable. I’m Debbie. Debbie Novotny, Michael’s mother.”

 

Oh, that’s too bad. “Justin Taylor. And this is my friend, Daphne Chanders.” Daphne smiles shyly at Debbie. “We’re...” I don’t know how to introduce us. Friends of Lindsay? Of Emmett? Of... Brian? Brian’s employees? This has all suddenly become so complicated.

 

“They baby-sit for us,” Lindsay comes to my rescue, petting my head like she would a child. I really hate being coddled. I’ve had enough of that growing up; being blond, small, and pretty. I pull out of her grasp and she grins, shaking her head. I don’t know if she keeps doing shit like that to tease me, but whatever the reason, I’m not amused.

 

“Well, technically...” It never takes long for Daphne to warm up to strangers. “We work for Brian.”

 

And that’s when I become painfully aware of Brian’s absence. I search the room, attempting to be as nonchalant as possible. My eyes meet Lindsay’s. “What?” I ask.

 

“Who’re you looking for?” Although, from the humor in her eyes, I can tell she already knows the answer. Her breath is warm on my ear when she whispers, “He’s outside, smoking. Maybe you’re a smoker, too?” Lindsay holds my gaze and searches my face expectantly. “I don’t know what happened yesterday, but Brian’s been... weird... ever since. I thought you might enlighten me.” 

 

Daphne clears her throat. God, she must be biting her tongue. I’m not ashamed that Brian and I fucked. Mmm, no, quite the opposite. It’s just that... well... We fucked in their bathroom, in their goddamn bathtub, while we were supposed to be looking after Gus. 

 

“Actually, Justin does smoke,” Daphne states, her voice devoid of any emotion.

 

Lindsay smiles brightly and points at the kitchen. “The back door’s that way.”

 

 

I’ve always worried about being able to distinguish the difference between lust and love; between like and love; between knowing and experimenting. I can still recall the first time I read “Romeo and Juliet,” thinking that it was a crock of shit. Kids that young... they can’t understand what real love is. They made the fatal error of mistaking lust for love. 

 

Still, in my immature youth, I loathe to admit that I, too, have acted brashly out of what I thought to be love. 

 

Never again.

 

I stand out on the patio, secretly observing Brian. He’s leaning against a tree, his long, lean figure the perfect opposite of the thick, gnarly trunk. A cigarette is pressed between his lips and his hands are flying across his phone. The faint sound of a familiar theme song reaches my ears and I smile. I would never have thought Brian likes to play video games. He grunts and closes his phone, reaching up to pull his cigarette out of his mouth. 

 

When I first saw him at the loft, I thought he was the hottest man I’ve ever seen. I’ve now confirmed that suspicion: he _is_ the hottest man I’ve ever seen, but... 

 

Is that all? I think back to our early morning meet and greets at the loft before work, I remember the way he makes me laugh and the way he, without complaint, welcomed Daph and me into his home. And when he rushed me to the hospital, when he drove me home, when he lingered by my door, and when he allowed himself to flabbergasted by my kiss... 

 

I move to step off the porch and join him when an amazingly colorful butterfly glides past me. You don’t ever see those in real life and I can’t help but feel humbled by it’s beauty. It hovers in front of me for a moment, before making it’s way to Brian, tumbling in the air in front of his face. 

 

“Wow,” he whispers softly, stretching his hand out slowly, holding it in the air, waiting. The butterfly lands on his hand and he reels it in, holding it close to his face and staring. I wish I was right there, next to him. I can only imagine the look of wonder and curiosity. I bet he looks just like a little kid.

 

My heart warms and I know. I _know_. 

 

I’m the type of person that needs this sort of confirmation. I need to know, for a fact, that I don’t just like someone; it’s not only lust. I’m beginning to love him. 

 

And fuck whoever says Brian Kinney doesn’t do love, won’t do love. Because as I watch him watch the butterfly sail away, his face revealing a hidden remorse, I know he will do love. He will do it for me, if I ask him to. 

 

For the first time since I came out to my parents and the only dreams I’ve ever known were smashed, I’m happy and excited.

 

“God, Brian,” I practically whimper, closing the distance between the two of us. He looks up, startled. An emotion swims briefly in his eyes. Fear? “God,” I say again as he swallows and glances around the yard like he doesn’t know what to do. “Brian...” Finally, he meets my gaze. “I’m falling in love with you.” 

 

He opens his mouth and I ready myself for a gruesome attack on my feelings, but it never comes.

 

 

Brian

 

If it wasn’t for the drumming of my heart and the way my palms begin to sweat, I would’ve told Justin to fuck off. Instead of saying something, I twist my hand into his shirt and drag him over to me. He presses against my chest, happy surprise etched on his features. Unsure of what to do, I nuzzle his face with my own and then, before I can revel in the smell and texture of his body, I push him away.

 

“Want a smoke?” I ask him.

 

He settles against the trunk of the tree. “Sure,” he answers softly. I try not to stare as he brings the cigarette to his plump lips and inhales. He pouts his lips and blows the smoke out, wetting them before once again inhaling. He has the most flawless mouth I’ve ever kissed. I want to kiss him again.

 

Catching him by surprise, I turn my head awkwardly and press my lips to his. The smoke wafts between our mouths, spouting carelessly as our lips part. I ignore the questions running in his eyes and light my own cigarette. My hand falls between us, caressing his leg. I don’t move it, even when I feel his fingers brush against mine and curl around my hand.

 

His shoulder meets my arm and I realize that he’s leaning into me. Slowly, his head falls onto my shoulder and he sighs, once again inhaling his cigarette. “I’m comfy,” he tells me. He nestles his head against my skin, his soft hair tickling my arm. 

 

My life, it’s so busy and complicated and sometimes it seems like everybody _needs_ something from me. My money, my time, my power, and hell, even my sperm. They get what they need and then leave me alone until something else comes up. I never have a moment to just... relax. But, right now, standing with Justin under the old tree in Deb’s backyard, smoking cigarettes and saying absolutely nothing, I feel all the tension in me simply erase. 

 

Despite Justin’s rather melodramatic moments, he’s normally pretty laid back. He seems so content and peaceful. And that rubs off on me. I’ve talked to him less than I have Daphne, but I feel like I know him so much better than her. Because what he doesn’t say vocally, he more than makes up for in body language. 

 

His hand tightens around my own and it snaps me back to reality. I can feel the blood rush to my face, which is so unlike me, but God, I was really on another planet, daydreaming about some kid who’s standing right here, next to me, holding my hand like some breeder, or worse yet, like some sappy dyke and I’m not doing a thing to stop it.

 

I slide my hand out of Justin’s and shift so that his body falls away from my own. He steadies himself and glares at me. I like that look in his eyes; a moment of heated anger. His eyes narrow even more when I begin to laugh.

 

“What?”

 

I shrug my shoulders, “Nothing.”

 

He licks his lips and looks up toward the sky, as if trying to find the correct words to say hidden in his memory. 

 

“Brian!” We’re interrupted. Michael steps onto the porch. “Come on! We’re gonna eat...” His eyes jump back and forth between Justin and myself, trying to gauge the situation. “What’re you doing?” He finally asks, placing his hands on his hips defiantly. 

 

“Talking,” Justin replies. “What’s it to you?” So, there’s some tension between my best friend and my... 

 

Calling Justin whatever it was I was going to call him came way too naturally, but I find myself not really caring. 

 

“Michael,” I warn. His eyes widen.

 

“What are you doing ‘Michael-ing’ me? Shouldn’t you be harassing the twink?”

 

“No.”

 

Michael runs his hands through his hair and then sticks them in his pant pockets. “Whatever,” he grumbles, moving back into the house.

 

“Let’s go,” Justin says, already walking toward the house.

 

When we reach the door, he turns to face me and smiles. “I know that you don’t do love or relationships. And that’s okay, for now. I can even accept that you have an obsessive best friend. None of it will stop me from falling in love with you. You have no control over something like that.”

 

I nod, waiting until he turns around and opens the door. “Maybe I don’t want you to,” I tell him, sliding by, rubbing my crotch against his ass.

 

He stands in the doorway, stunned, as I take a seat next to Lindsay. I don’t know what I’m doing with him. Saying something like that will only encourage him, but damn, it felt good. Especially when he explodes with a brilliant smile as my words sink in.

 

“Justin?” Vic asks, pulling him away from the door. “Aren’t you going to eat with us?”

 

 

Justin ends up seated directly across from me. Through Debbie, who has the audacity to ask some of the most private questions, I learn a lot about him. I’m amazed that he’s as centered as he is considering the shit his father put him through after he came out. 

 

“So, Justin,” Melanie begins, cutting her breakfast patty as if it were a pizza. I hate how she does that; the meticulous manner in which she studies each piece to make sure they are all the same size. And they call me anal. “Do you have a boyfriend?” 

 

“You can bet your ass he does,” Debbie laughs. “A kid this cute? There’s no way the boys of Liberty would leave him alone long.”

 

Daphne chuckles into her milk. “Justin’s very picky. Only the best,” she teases.

 

“You should come to the GLC,” Melanie ignores my amused snort when she says this. “A lot of great guys hang out there.”

 

Justin smiles politely. “Thanks for the help, Melanie,” he says, reaching out for the pepper. “But, I don’t really think I need help finding a man. I’m pretty capable on my own, thank you very much.”

 

I smile around my coffee, taking a quick sip when I notice Lindsay watching me intently. 

 

Michael snickers and our attention focuses on him. “If you’re so capable,” he says, leaning proudly into the back of his chair, “Why don’t you have a boyfriend?” Justin merely stares at him and Michael takes that as an open invitation. “Or maybe it’s because the men you’re interested in,” he glances briefly at me, “Are unattainable and will never be in a relationship with you.”

 

“Or maybe,” Justin bites back, “That’s just you.”

 

“Whoa,” Ted laughs. “Cat fight.” He curls his fists to mimic claws and hisses weakly. His joke falls flat when he notices that neither men are amused.

 

Justin, apparently the better man, shrugs and returns to his meal. The table is silent for a moment, attempting to understand Michael’s bitterness, but quickly boring of it. Everyone falls into their own hushed conversations, making sure, though, to include Justin and Daphne whenever possible. 

 

I settle into my chair, about to say something to Lindsay when I’m distracted by Justin’s watermelon. He cuts into it with his fork, shaking out the juices before bringing it to his mouth. I can’t take my eyes off the way his tongue darts out to wrap under the melon. His chewing is slow and careful, as if he’s savoring every last bit of the fruit. My eyes follow his lips’ movements, as if trying to memorize them. 

 

He licks his lips once. And once again. The third time he does it, his tongue lingers in the middle, his mouth open as if gasping slightly. He mouths my name and, startled, I look up into his eyes. They’re shining wickedly.

 

Another piece of watermelon is closing in on his mouth. He opens, wide, as the fruit touches his lips. He spears the melon with his tongue before running it along the soft edges and finally sliding it in. 

 

I bite my lips. Two can play at this game. 

 

Searching the table, my eyes land on the platter of vegetables and I let an evil grin escape my lips. He raises an eyebrow and follows my gaze. 

 

I reach over and grab a handful of the baby carrots, dropping them onto my plate.

 

“That’s not all you’re going to eat today,” Debbie chastises me. “Have some toast, too.” She picks up the plate and nudges Ben with it. “Give this to Brian.”

 

“I already had toast, Deb,” I answer, my words harder than I mean. She just ruined any possibility of hot foreplay with food. “And eggs. If you weren’t so busy drooling over the two of them, “I nod towards Daphne and Justin, “You would’ve known.”

 

She huffs. “Well, exc-use me. What climbed into your pants?”

 

Justin throws his head back, his hair moving gracefully with the motion, and lets out a fucking amazing laugh. I watch his body tremble with amusement and I begin to laugh as well. 

 

“I don’t think I wanna know,” Debbie sighs, shaking her head after we calm down.

 

Justin grins at me, pushing his chair away from the table and standing up. “Where’s the bathroom?” He makes his escape to the small bathroom down the hall. 

 

I stand up moments later.

 

“Where’re you going?” Michael asks. “We’re not done yet.”

 

“I have to use the bathroom, too.”

 

I start to follow Justin, but Debbie calls out, “You have to wait until Justin’s done.”

 

I smirk at them before entering the hall. The confusion in their voice is evident even though their words are muffled. They’re smart; they can figure it out.

 

Justin’s standing in the doorway. “What did you tell them just now?”

 

I press against him, molding him into the door frame. “Nothing.”

 

“But--” I quiet him with a deep kiss, shoving my tongue unceremoniously in his mouth. The sweetness of the melon mixes with his saliva and I find myself drinking it, sucking that taste into my mouth like I would a drink. He groans, pushing away and wiping his chin with the back of his hand. “What are you doing?” He’s self-conscious and I find it irresistible.

 

“Kissing you.” I reach for him again. 

 

His hands meet mine and he intertwines our fingers. This time I don’t day dream. I stay right with him, squeezing my fingers around his. 

 

“I felt like you were trying to eat me,” he grins, butting his forehead against my own. 

 

“No,” I whisper, shaking my head. “I was trying to drink you. Totally different thing.”

 

He still seems confused. “Don’t worry about it,” I tell him. “It’s a good thing.”

 

“Oh.” He pauses and glances over my shoulder, peering down the hall. He watches, and when no one comes after us, he smiles at me. “I think I’d rather you eat me instead,” he teases, pulling me into the bathroom with him.


	11. Building Blocks

Justin

 

“Let’s all go to Babylon tonight,” Emmett claps, breaking the silence that looms in the room after Brian and I return to the kitchen. Our clothing is somewhat tousled, and our hair is a mess. We didn’t take too much time after our second heated union in a bathroom to appropriately fix ourselves up. If Brian’s friends can’t figure out what we were doing in the bathroom, then our sloppy appearances will surely help.

 

I glance at Daphne, who’s worrying her lips between her teeth. “Babylon?” I ask slowly.

 

Emmett smiles kindly at me. He’s the only one, beside Daphne and Lindsay, who’s not staring at Brian and myself as if we are complete strangers. “Yeah. We can dance, get to know each other, get drunk...”

 

I do the quick calculation in my head: three meals at the diner, two late night snacks from McDonald’s, the perscription for my drugs after my fight with Hobbs, three packs of cigarettes, gas, groceries, and after the disastrous affair at Babylon a couple nights ago, I’d say that my bank account is somewhere in the single digits. And by the look of it, I’d bet my last few dollars that Daph is in the same position. 

 

The cover charge alone will leave me with a negative balance in my checking account.

 

“Nah,” I tell Emmett, feeling Brian’s gaze as it bores into me. “Some other time.”

 

Michael huffs. “Whassa matter? Afraid to play with the big boys?”

 

“You know, some people have lives _outside_ of Babylon.” Debbie smacks him on the back of the head as she says this.

 

“C’mon, Justin,” Brian teases me. “No one will remember that you can’t hold your liquor.”

 

“It’s not like that.”

 

His eyebrows climb up his forehead. Brian uses his eyebrows to express many of his emotions. I’m starting to understand this. 

 

“We don’t bite,” Emmett laughs, forcing me to take my eyes off of Brian’s face. “Unless you want us to. Of course, I have a feeling there’s only one guy here you’d want biting you...”

 

“I promise to save you a dance,” Brian says softly, running a hand through my hair.

 

I don’t think he realizes how possessive a simple action like that can seem. Aside from Daphne, and Emmett, everyone else, including Lindsay, is honing in on Brian’s hand and my hair. Michael looks like he’s either constipated or jealous, I can’t decide which, and I can’t seem to revel in his anger because I’m too busy leaning into Brian’s touch. 

 

_Fuck Babylon_ I wanna say. I just want to go home with Brian and continue what we started in the bathroom. I’d be nice to finally have sex with him on a mattress and to finally be held in his arms after he pounds into me like his life depends on it--like _our_ lives depends on it.

 

Above all, I really want to be comfortable; the cold tiles on bathroom floors aren’t.

 

Brian’s eyes are burning a giant hole in my face and I choose not to look at him. “I can’t.” 

 

How do you I explain to a man who wants for nothing that I can’t afford to go? 

 

“Yeah, you can,” he insists. “You know you want to.”

 

“Of course I want to. That’s not the issue.” I pull my head away from Brian’s hands. His caresses are slowly whittling my resolve and I must be adamant about this. I must. Even though, God, I want to dance with Brian. I want to buy him a drink and look the other men in the eyes and be able to growl that Brian’s mine. I want to stick out my tongue at Michael behind Brian’s back as we grind into each other on the dance floor, as I lead him to the back room. I want to lay my claim on the massive hunk of flesh and blood and sex and perfection that is Brian Kinney. What better place to do this than Babylon? But I have my livelihood to think about. Which is, ultimately, more important than nya-nya-ing the boys of Babylon. 

 

Somewhat.

 

“Then what is the issue?” He’s getting defensive. 

 

“I...” I can feel the sign of a telltale blush creeping into my cheeks. “I can’t afford it,” I say quickly, hoping my words are jumbled together. Hoping that I can leave before anyone makes a big deal out of it. Before Brian realizes that I’m not worth the effort. 

 

Lindsay’s the first person to say anything after my announcement. As if breathing a sigh of relief, she laughs, “Don’t worry about that, Justin. I’m sure Brian will have no objections paying your way--”

 

“But _I_ would,” I tell her. 

 

Michael clucks at his seat by the table, but says nothing. I turn to him and glare. “What, Michael? Do you have something you’d like to share with the class?” There’s something about him that makes me act like I’m ten. 

 

Maybe it’s the fact that he’s still stuck in kindergarten himself.

 

“Yeah,” Michael says, lifting himself in his chair, puffing out his chest. “Now that Brian’s your sugar daddy, you may as well milk it for all it’s worth.”

 

I cringe inwardly when he says this. There’s no way in hell Brian will ever be my sugar daddy. I need him for something much more important that money. I open my mouth to tell Michael just this, but Brian beats me to it.

 

“I’m not his sugar daddy, Michael. And if you ever say that again, I swear to God I will never help you financially ever again.” He’s pissed. I know by the way his jaw tightens. “Justin hasn’t asked for one cent from me and you can bet all your fucking collectibles in the world that he never will.”

 

Before I met Brian, no one stood up for me. Daphne would, on occasion, but she’s more of a Live and Let Live type of girl. It feels good to have someone defend me. To have someone who cares. 

 

And as I look at Brian, his eyes shooting fire at Michael from across the room, I smile. I know I fucking glow. I can feel the light emanating off of my body and reflecting off of all the stupid little glass menageries Debbie has lined up on her shelves. The room’s aglow and I feel happy.

 

I reach out and cup Brian’s chin in my hand. Immediately he draws back into himself. “Babylon’s your stomping ground. Go. Have fun. I’ll go home and paint. I’m suddenly... inspired.” I start to push myself up on the toes of my feet, to kiss Brian, but I remember we aren’t alone and choose not to make the situation any more uncomfortable for Brian than it already is. 

 

I think part of me is disappointed when Brian asks, “Are you sure?” But, I’m not going to trap Brian into the type of monogamous, bullshit lifestyle I’ve never fully believed in myself.

 

I nod, ginning as I release his chin from my grip. “Yes. You have fun though.” I turn away from him, proud of my reaction, and say to the group, “You all have fun.”

 

 

Brian

 

It’s fine that he can’t afford to go to Babylon--well, no... not “fine.” It’s actually kind of sad that he can’t afford to go, but I understand. I understand his reasoning, I just wish there was a way I could’ve convinced him to let me pay without taking away his sense of independence. And without making him believe I was asking him out on a date. I don’t do dates. 

 

And if I did, I wouldn’t be taking him to _Babylon_.

 

All everyone can talk about is me and Justin. Lindsay and Emmett are proud, Ted’s curious, Ben’s happy, Debbie’s confused, Vic’s just sitting there, looking smug, and Michael... Well, I’m going to have to deal with Michael sooner than later.

 

I just don’t know why they’re making such a big deal out of the kid. Out of _us_. It’s not like we exchanged rings. We’ve just fucked. Twice. Both times incredible. Both times mind-blowing. Both times life-alternating. I wonder what I third time will bring. Don’t they always say that the third time’s the charm? I wonder if that pertains to sex also?

 

A small voice in my head is telling me I should be worrying about even considering a third time, but I don’t want to. I want to think about fucking Justin on a bed, on a couch, on the hardwood floor of the loft, on the kitchen counter, against the pole, in the lift, on the stairs, in my closet, under my table, on top of my table, in the jeep, in Daphne’s car, in the lobby of Justin’s apartment, in the half-finished room of the loft, in the back room, on the dance floor, on the bar, on a pool table--

 

“What are you thinking about?” Ben asks me, sliding, undetected, out the back door. Of course I’m outside, smoking, while everyone is inside, cleaning. They accept this. Always have. Always will. I wonder if Justin would let me get away with such bullshit. I doubt it. I can imagine him handing me a sponge and making such a domestic chore like washing dishes into fabulous foreplay-- “What are you thinking about, Brian?” He repeats, a small smirk-- _my_ smirk--playing on his face.

 

“Sex,” I answer. At least it’s not a lie.

 

“With Justin?” He asks. I wish Ben was smaller than me. I hate when he makes me feel intimidated, stupid, immature-- “He’s sweet.”

 

I roll my eyes. “That’s what Emmett said, too.”

 

Ben shrugs his shoulders, sitting down on the porch, looking up at me, waiting for me to join him. I sigh dramatically. Here we go: lecture 101 with Professor Bruckner. “I bet you can think of some better adjectives for him, huh?” He grins after I join him. 

 

Sometimes I wish Ben was healthy for selfish reasons. I wish he was healthy every waking moment of my life, but for moments like now, I wish he could smoke with me and drink with me, kind of like a big brother. But, disease has taken away that side of life from him. Even through all his “live in the moment” mumbo jumbo, he’s still quite reserved.

 

“I know I can’t smoke with you,” Ben says, surprising me. I lift an eyebrow. “But I can give you some very good advice.”

 

We wait together in silence. “Well?” I finally ask as I light another cigarette. Thank God Justin smokes. I don’t think I could be in a rela-- “Jesus,” I mutter, yanking the cigarette out of my mouth and blowing the air violently from out of my lungs.

 

“What’s the matter?” Ben asks.

 

He’s a very patient man. I think that’s why he’s so good with Mikey; ‘cause he has the patience to wait for him to grow up. Maybe he is growing up, slowly but surely. Maybe he isn’t. There are times when I look back at the Michael I knew when I was fourteen and I can’t recognize any of that Michael in the Michael I know now. But, then there are other times when I can’t distinguish between the two. Times like tonight, when he berated Justin. Times like when he sneaks into my loft...

 

“Brian? Where have you been going tonight? You’re all over the place,” Ben inquires, leaning in to study me. The gang has rubbed off on him. When he first hooked up with Mikey, he was so detached, afraid to set me off. And now, here he is, rubbing his Zen-Ben wisdom in my face. 

 

“Have you always been a Dr. Phil wannabe?” I bite out, annoyed that he can meet the best of my stares head on.

 

He lets out a quiet laugh. “Someone’s feisty today. Must be the weather,” he grins, wagging his eyebrows in such a non-Ben manner that I have to laugh with him.

 

“You’re a freak, you know?” 

 

He smiles. “Kinda have to be to be with Michael,” he says softly, chuckling. “But don’t you tell him I said that.”

 

“Won’t. Don’t care. ‘Side, it’s not like he’d believe me.”

 

The smile disappears and I realize that I’ve just stepped into a serious conversation without looking. “They’re always quick to blame you, huh,” he’s not asking. I know to remain quiet. “Or to ask for things from you. They want and want and want, right? And you give and give and give because that’s all your good for.” I shrug. “So, is that why you like Justin--”

 

I snort. “Like? What are we? Children?”

 

“Fine,” Ben smiles mischievously. “Fine, is that why you loooooove Justin? Because he doesn’t ask?”

 

“He’s asked for plenty.”

 

“Oh yeah? What? Harder? Faster? More?”

 

I pause. “More. Yeah.”

 

“Is it so bad for someone to expect more from you? Not expect _something_ from you, but to just expect more of whatever is in you? I find that those are the most rewarding people to be around. People who expect you to live up to your fullest potential--”

 

“Thanks for the after-school special, Professor,” I cringe. 

 

“Well, I’m just telling you--”

 

“I know what you’re saying. And I appreciate it.” I see the look of disbelief on his face and I smile. “No. Really. I do. But the stuff you’re telling me... It’s not anything I haven’t already figured out.” I wait for my words to register on his face before I continue. “Yeah, I’m all over the place tonight, but that’s to be expected. I mean, I’ve come to some very scary realizations today. I just need to smoke and drink and allow these things to settle.”

 

“And when they do?” 

 

“One step at a time.”

 

Ben gets this soft look on his face. “Why him, Brian?” He asks. 

 

I don’t even pretend to not understand his words. “I guess it’s ‘cause he does ask for more. And because he’s fucking gorgeous,” I grin, relieving some of the tension that’s been hovering.

 

“Does he know?”

 

I shrug, tossing my cigarette onto the lawn. The afternoon sun’s starting to burn its way through my clothing, heating my skin. I kind of like this feeling. I lean back, tipping my head to drink in the sunlight. The sunshine.


	12. Building Blocks

Justin

 

There’s nothing like a visit from my homophobic father to ruin what was starting to be the most exemplary day of my life. Because he’s here, in our apartment, when Daphne and I return from Debbie’s. 

 

“How did you get it?” I grumble while at the same time, Daphne offers a cheery wave and a sugarcoated, “Hi, Mr. Taylor.”

 

He nods stiffly at the both of us. Daphne takes a water out of the fridge and hops onto the counter, opening the cold bottle. My father stares at her until she sighs and slides off the counter, patting my belly to wish me luck as she makes her way out of the living room and into her bedroom, shutting the door lightly behind her.

 

I don’t join him on the couch, even though he’s obviously waiting for me to do so. Instead, I yank off my shirt, tossing it carelessly onto the floor. I’m putting on a show for him. Sick, I know. Perverted, probably. But, I want him to see my hot body, to know what construction has done to his little boy. I especially want him to see the bruises, bite marks, and hickeys Brian’s mouth and agile fingers has imprinted on my neck and chest. Little love bites scatter from the base of neck to the tip of my cock, but my father will never see that much. My ring is upside down and when I reach up to flip it, I glance at my father. His eyes narrow.

 

“What have you done to yourself?” He asks, shaking his head, biting his tongue from saying something truly nasty. I have to admire him for that.

 

“What are you referring to, Craig? The nipple ring or the hickeys?”

 

My father visibly cringes. “I don’t suppose a woman gave you those hickeys. And that... what is that? A bite mark? On your chest?”

 

“Don’t suppose anything. You’ll only be disappointed,” I tell him, crossing my arms over my chest. I’m attempting to look as casual and unaffected as possible, even though I can literally hear my hear pounding in my chest. “What do you want? How the fuck did you get in here?” I repeat my earlier question.

 

“Your landlord let me in.”

 

“I’m going to have to talk to him about that.”

 

“I’m your _father_ , Justin. I’m allowed access into your life.”

 

I jerk back. “Father? Really. And which life is that? My queer, cock-sucking life or the made-up, unhappy life you’ve envisioned for me?”

 

“You seem to be doing well for yourself, son.” I despise him most during moments like these. Moments when I’m trying my damnedest to piss him off, and he doesn’t even blink. No wonder he’s got my mother wrapped around his little finger so tightly; he should’ve been an actor.

 

“Don’t call me that,” I hiss. “I haven’t been your son since I was seventeen. Not really, anyway. So, why don’t we just cut the bullshit and you tell me what’s really on your mind.”

 

I almost think he’s going to argue with me. He leans against the back of the couch and lets out a long, tired sigh. But then that all changes and he stands up, walking toward me with such ferocious power. I hate that I can still be intimidated by him. 

 

“Fine, Justin.” Thank God he’s cut the “son” crap. “I talked to Mr. Chanders today. He told me about your fight with Hobbs. Did you know that Chris is now unemployed?”

 

“Good,” I shrug, retreating from his hovering form by grabbing the nearest pack of cigarettes and walking to the window. 

 

He’s right behind me. “I heard from a very reliable source that the fight is your fault.”

 

“Then either you need to check your hearing or your source isn’t that reliable, because Hobbs is totally at fault. He attacked me. He insulted me, pestered me, and finally cracked the back of my head open on a piece of wood.” I turn around to show him my stitches, taking the opportunity to light my cigarette. Inhaling deeply, I face my father and blow the stale smoke into his face. 

 

“You shouldn’t smoke,” he says. And for a moment, it’s like old times. Back before I cared about sex; back before I knew I was gay. He seems so genuinely concerned for me that it nearly breaks my heart when his face hardens and he once again becomes the asshole I’ve grown to know so well. “I heard you were talking about... about...”

 

“My disgusting lifestyle?” I help.

 

He nods.

 

Inhaling, I say, “Yeah.” Exhale. “So what?”

 

“I’ve told you a thousand times not to flaunt your irregularities in the faces of normal people. It’ll only get you into trouble.”

 

“Oh, so it’s my fault?”

 

He nods again. “Of course. No one wants to know what a faggot does with another faggot in... bed. Keep those kind of perversions to yourself.”

 

“That’s where you’re wrong, Craig.” I’m ready for an argument. I smash my cigarette out and lean against the window. “He wanted to know. He practically _begged_ me.” I lower my voice and run my fingers slowly up and down my chest. “Chris Hobbs has a major hard-on for me. He wants me. So. Bad.” I tug on my nipple ring and let out a puff of air. My father’s eyes widen and he steps away from me. “He wants me to sucks his cock and eat his ass and--”

 

But my father’s had enough. He’s storming away from me, grabbing his jacket from off the couch. When he reaches the door, he turns back to me and says, “ If that’s how you spoke to him, then you deserved what you got. You deserved a lot worse. I’m surprised he didn’t kill you.”

 

I follow him out the hall and to the elevator. “Surprised, _dad_? Or merely disappointed?”

 

The elevator opens and he enters, holding the door with his hand. “I expect you to call Mr. Chanders and ask him to give Chris his job back. You are to take full responsibility for your actions.” I’m about to argue with him, but he presses the button, releasing the door. Right before they close on him, he calls out, “Right now, I’m just disappointed.”

 

It takes me a while to realize what he meant. But, as I enter my apartment, I start to shake. I let out a frustrated cry and slam the door, the movement forcing one of my art books off the shelf on the wall next to me. 

 

“What’d daddy dearest have to say?” Daphne asks softly. 

 

I look up at her. “Nothing,” I whisper, but when she pulls me into her warm arms, I begin to cry. “Everything. I hate him, Daph. I hate him.”

 

“Shh,” she says, petting my hair. “I know. I know.”

 

I begin to think in colors. Dark green and a midnight blue. The colors become a shapeless image and, suddenly, I have a great idea for a painting. “Daphne,” I begin.

 

She pulls away, using her sleeve to wipe my face. “Gonna go paint? Are you sure you don’t want to meet up with the boys at Babylon later?”

 

I shake my head, leaving the comfort of her embrace and walking over to the fridge. At least we have good beer. No matter how poor, Daphne and I make it a point to have at least one good lager in the house at all times. “I don’t have any money,” I sigh, leaning against the fridge, twisting the cap open with my shirt.

 

“Well, I have some. You could--”

 

“Nah, Daph. You saved up your money. I didn’t. End of story. Beside, I really want to paint. I have a great idea...” 

 

“Gonna paint Brian?” She teases, smiling widely.

 

Shrugging, I push off the fridge and head to my room. “Who knows?” I call over my shoulder. 

 

Once in my room, I open the drawer of my dresser. Hundreds of oil paint tubes rest in the drawer, longing to be mixed on a pallet and spread with precision over a new canvas. Or perhaps it’s just me yearning to hold a paint bush so tightly in my hand that my fingers begin to cramp. Whatever the reason, art has always called out to me. 

 

I’ve never used my drawers for anything other than art supplies. My clothing lay crumpled on the floor of my closet, occasionally finding their way onto a hanger when I get the rare inspiration to clean. As long as my art supplies are readily available, who cares about anything else? 

 

I sift through the drawer, pulling out the greens and blues which flashed during my brief interlude with my father. But, it’s Brian I’m going to paint. The pain and sorrow I feel for my father will be present, but under shadowed by Brian’s strength. His beauty. And then, when I’m done, I’ll send it to my father. And he’ll get it. I know he will. He’ll look at the painting of my... lover, a painting utilizing _his_ colors and he’ll understand. 

 

It’s not about him, my father, anymore. It’s about my life as a gay man. With a gay lover. 

 

And it’s about me being so fucking happy.

 

Proud to be gay. 

 

I shut the drawer with my hip. 

 

Oh, yes. My father will see how fucking happy I am, how fucking needless he is, that his eyes will fill with tears. Tears of regret. Tears that prove he’s no longer the deciding factor in my life. Because once I’m done with this painting, I’m going to school. To art school. 

 

Mr. Chanders will give me a scholarship and I will become the world’s best artist. 

 

And then, when I’m super famous, the first interview I give will talk about my disgusting lifestyle. 

 

Won’t dad be proud?

 

 

Brian

 

I don’t plan on being monogamous. If this thing I have with Justin goes anywhere, I’m still going to trick. And right now, I’m horny as hell. Half-naked, gyrating men surround me and the stench of their sweat, salty and hot, culminates in the air, burning my nostrils with teasing words. Words like _fuck_ , _want_ , _now_ , _me_ , and _come_. There’s this guy, tall, built, and beautiful, making eyes at me from over his dancing partner’s shoulder. Classy, I know, but, damn, he’s sexy. My eyes roam his body. Big. Nice. I nod at him, lifting a brow as he pushes away from his partner and presses himself against my chest. It’s awkward. He’s too tall, too large, and doesn’t fit there. I step back and trace my finger down his naked chest. Everything’s so prominent. So obvious. Like, “Lookee me! I’m hunky!” I don’t appreciate the unsubtle way his body screams “I’m a good fuck.” 

 

Justin’s body: so smooth, so flat, and yet so perfect. Everything about him is real! and manly! and mine! This guy... he’s nothing special. 

 

And I lose the last of the interest I have in him as I look into his brown, not blue, brown, eyes. 

 

“Sorry,” I mutter, walking away from him. 

 

There’s no way I’m ever going to monogamous. I’ll fuck who I want to, wherever I want to, and no piece of blond boy ass will tell me different. 

 

But I guess my feelings for said blond boy ass will tell me different.

 

Because, right now, the only person I want to fuck is _him_. Look me in the eyes and tell me that this isn’t a pretty big deal?

 

“That guy was really hot,” Emmett yells at me as I join them at the bar. 

 

I shrug.

 

“Why didn’t you fuck him?”

 

I shrug again. “Not what I was looking for.”

 

Michael laughs that annoying, high-pitched guffaw he uses when he finds something ironically funny. “You weren’t looking for a hot piece of ass to fuck?” He asks. “That’s a first.”

 

Ben looks over the top of Michael’s head and smiles. “Maybe not the _right_ hot piece of ass.”

 

I smirk, turning back to the bar to order a beer. 

 

“What does that mean?” Michael asks. He moves to stand next to me. “What’s he talking about?”

 

Emmett giggles, stepping in between me and Michael to say, “Ju-ustin.” He practically sings Justin’s name.

 

“That twink?” Michael looks between Emmett, who’s grinning madly, and me, who’s biting back a smile and screeches, “You can’t be serious, Brian!”

 

I gulp my beer, letting the thickness of the liquor warm my body before turning to Michael and saying, “Let’s dance.”

 

Michael grins, nodding excitedly. He’s already walking to the dance floor before I can put my beer down.

 

“Good luck,” Emmett whispers, pushing me toward Michael. 

 

Ben grabs my arm as I follow Michael. “Let him down easy. If you hurt him more than you have to, I won’t be happy.”

 

“If you bruise me,” I sneer, ripping my arm out of his hold, “I won’t be happy.”

 

We have a small conversation without words, glaring at each other. Emmett laughs with appreciation. “Whoa, you boys are hot when you’re acting butch! You should do it more often.”

 

Emmett’s words break us apart. We smile at each other and I go to join Michael, who’s waiting impatiently at the edge of the dance floor.

 

We push our way through the throng of sweaty bodies and find an empty space in the middle. He brings his hands to my shoulders, but I keep my distance. It doesn’t take him long to figure something’s wrong, because he gets that look of childlike confusion in his eyes. It’s one of the reasons I like Michael so much; he’s so easy to read.

 

“If you think about it,” I begin, finally wrapping my arms around his waist to pull him closer, “I’m not really the one you want. I want to be friends--friends forever--so, please. Stop.”

 

I allow him to pull away. “What are you talking about?” He asks, his voice timid and quiet.

 

“My loft. My bed. Your silly crush. It’s all futile.” Michael studies my face intently. “What?” 

 

“‘Cause of him?” He asks weakly.

 

“Among other things.”

 

“Like what?” 

 

“Like the fact that’s it’s creepy. Jesus, Michael.”

 

Michael’s more interested in a button on his shirt than he is in the desperation in my voice. He takes a deep breath. “But--”

 

“There isn’t a ‘but,’ Michael.”

 

He nods as I hold his gaze. “Okay,” he finally declares. The smile on his face is strained, but it’s a start.

 

“Thank you,” I tell him, quietly. Just quietly enough for Michael to wonder if he really heard it.

 

He lifts his shoulders and begins to walk away. “Michael!” I call after him, pushing to make my way through the dancing men. I catch up to him at the edge of the dance floor. “What do you think?” I ask, waiting as a smirk replaces the look of amazement on his face. 

 

“You asking for my permission?” He teases, grabbing my hand and leading me to the door. 

 

“No... not... really... Michael?” I stop him. “Where are we going?”

 

“ _We_ aren’t going anywhere. _You_ are.”

 

“But--” I gesture to the dance floor, to the bar, to the back room, to Babylon.

 

“Obviously, none of this is doing it for you,” He opens the door and pushes me out, harder than I expect. I think he’s a little pissed about my confrontation, if you can even call it that, but when I glance up at him, he’s smiling honestly. “If you turn into a mushy, flower-arranging, love-sick lesbo, I will personally castrate you.” He points at me. 

 

“Puh-leese,” I drawl. “Like that would ever happen.”

 

Michael throws his head back to cackle. “Remind me of that when you’re planning your wedding and signing adoption papers.”

 

“Ah, spoken like a true lesbian,” I tease. “Bye, Mikey.”

 

I have a feeling he watches me until I fade from his sight. But, then again, maybe not.


	13. Building Blocks

Brian

 

Daphne’s eyes pop out of her head when she opens the door. She glances at her watch, then at me, and then back at her watch, as if unable to grasp onto the fact that, yes, I’m really here when I should be at Babylon, fucking my brains out. “Brian,” she begins, opening the door slightly to let me in. “I didn’t... We didn’t know you were... Why aren’t you at Babylon?”

 

Despite the shitty neighborhood, their apartment is warm and well-decorated. I didn’t get a good look at it when I was here after I dropped them off from the hospital, so I take my time scrutinizing their choices. I wander around the living room, taking in the color and design, completely ignoring her question. “I like what you guys did to this place.” I stop in front of a huge oil painting of the ocean, only the seascape is yellow, not blue. “Nice. Where’d you find the art?” I ask. 

 

“Didn’t. Justin painted them.”

 

“Really?” I turn again to the oil painting, taking in the practiced brush strokes. “All of them?”

 

Daphne sighs, dropping onto the couch. “Yep.”

 

He’s incredibly talented. “Does he ever sell his work?” I’m completely serious, but Daphne lets out a derivative snort. “What?” I ask, turning to face her. “He’s good.”

 

“You really think that if he sold any of his art he’d be working where he works. Or living where he lives?”

 

I study the painting one last time before moving to join her on the couch. “Nah. Probably not.”

 

It’s not really uncomfortable, the silence that looms in the air, it’s just unusual. “Why are you out here with me? Didn’t you come here to see Justin?” 

 

“Well, yeah...”

 

She smiles at me, placing a soft hand on my arm. “He’s addicting, huh?”

 

I have to laugh at that because of all the words I can think of to describe Justin, addicting wouldn’t even have entered my mind and yet, it’s the most appropriate of them all. Addicting he is. Like a drug, without the bad side effects. Or like your favorite TV show, the one that makes you decline any plans the evening it’s aired. Addicting like coffee. You don’t realize you need it, depend on it, until you’re drinking three cups before work every morning. And even more on the weekends because it’s that good. “Addicting in a good way?” 

 

“The best.”

 

We look at each other and grin. I wonder if she likes Justin the way little girls are supposed to like little boys. The way I like Justin. The way he likes me.

 

Okay, so maybe I lied way back when saying that this wasn’t a fairy tale or a love story because that’s what it’s turning out to be. 

 

This should be my cue to leap out of the couch and fly out of the door, never to see or talk to Justin again. Never to touch him. Or fuck him in a bathroom. Ever again. But, the couch is surprisingly comfortable and I’ve had a long day.

 

Daphne’s regarding me with so much intensity that I can literally feel her gaze under my skin. “What?”

 

“Don’t you think it’s funny that like, three days ago Justin thought you were straight and now...”

 

She trails off, leaving me incredibly interested. “And now what?”

 

“I don’t know. I’ve heard so many rumors about you the past couple days--”

 

“They can’t be rumors if they’re true.”

 

Daphne does a sort of double take, “But--”

 

“It’s who I am.”

 

“Your past?”

 

I look at her slowly. “No,” I drawl out. “My past, present, and probably future...”

 

“But...” Her face tightens. “What about Justin?”

 

“I don’t know. I’ve never done anything like this before. All I know is that I want to. And that’s never happened to me. I’ve never wanted to try to form any sort of relationship with a trick. Not that... Not that Justin’s a trick. I don’t know.”

 

She turns to face me, reaching out to put her hand on my shoulder. “You’re not going to throw him out after, are you? I mean, it’s different with him, right?”

 

“Do you think I’d even be here if it wasn’t?”

 

She lets out a bright smile. Not bright like Justin’s, but bright as in honest and happy. “Good. His room’s that way,” she points down the hall. “He’s painting in the studio.”

 

“You guys have a studio?” 

 

“Yeah,” Daphne giggles. “It’s Justin’s balcony. We’ve turned it into a makeshift studio. Being a carpenter has some advantages.”

 

I nod and make my way down the hall. I lift my hand to knock, but Daphne calls out, “Don’t bother. He won’t hear you. Just go right in.”

 

So I do. I turn the knob and enter Justin’s bedroom for the first time. 

 

It’s not what I expect. For some reason, I expect posters and cluttered books and piles of magazines, but instead, I find bare cream walls, a messy closet, an unmade bed, and drawers full of art supplies. The room smells strongly of my high school art class--turpentine, oil, chalk, and canvas. Surely this can’t be a _healthy_ smell to live with. 

 

It suits Justin. He identifies himself not by his decorations, but by the way in which he lives: simple, economical, and stripped to the bare essentials. He doesn’t need flashy clothing or fancy furniture to declare himself independent. 

 

I feel humbled.

 

And that’s a rare form to find me, indeed.

 

The only light source is coming from behind a giant tarp covering Justin’s balcony doors. And it’s not even a true light source, not really. The light is merely peeking through the cracks from around the tarp. There’s not enough light in here to do anything productive.

 

I hear a noise, something plastic-like, and then music. The tunes remind me of the trance-goth music they used to play in dance clubs when I was in college. A female singer wails much like a violin, long and high. It’s kind of nice, taken out of context. The music makes my legs feel heavy as I walk over to the tarp. 

 

I stand in the bedroom, listening to the music and the soft scraping of Justin’s brush against canvas. Slowly, I pull back the tarp and step through. No sound is made and I’m able to watch Justin unnoticed. 

 

I’ve never seen an artist hug a pallet the way Justin does. It’s as if he’s trying to embrace the colors, mixing and swirling them so close to his chest that his shirt is splattered with erratic variances of blues and greens. His teeth clutch a small brush, occasionally switching it with the large one in his hands. The angle in which he stretches allows me to trace the muscles in Justin’s body. From hand to bicep to shoulder, down his back to his ass, thighs, calves, and ankles. 

 

I never knew painting could be so erotic.

 

I’m so entranced by the _way_ Justin’s painting that I don’t even look at the _what_ until he stops moving to inspect his progress.

 

And even in it’s crude form I can tell. He’s painting me. He’s painting me with these dark, foreboding colors and for some reason, having me on the canvas eats up the sorrow and fear those colors represent. He’s painted me a tint of yellow and Goddamn if I don’t want to cry. 

 

He’s painted me a beacon of light. Talk about paying homage. 

 

I don’t know what to say, so instead, I say nothing. Expressing myself through words has never been my strength anyway.

 

I step closer to him, waiting for him to notice me. The song changes and his strokes quicken with the music. He takes a step back. One more. Another one and his ass bumps my groin and all I want to do is lean over him and envelope him. 

 

He turns around in my arms, startled at first, but then smiles this fucking brilliant smile, allowing the brush to fall from his mouth. And I don’t even look down to see if the paint stains my pants when I feel the brush hit my leg. His hands reach out to grip my biceps, leaving a small ring of blue fingerprints on my shirt.

 

“Shit,” he exclaims when he looks down at my painted shirt. He tries to rub the paint out, but only ends up rubbing the paint in more. “Shit! I’m sorry.” He bows his head sheepishly. “Got some on your pants, too.”

 

“S’okay,” I tell him, lifting his chin to meet me in a soft, wet kiss. Wet kisses are the best. They’re so personal and territorial. “Maybe you can sign my clothes and I can say that I have a Justin Taylor original.”

 

He laughs. It’s deep and guttural and such a fucking turn on. “I’ve never met anyone who can laugh with such honesty as you do.”

 

He squints his eyes and scrunches his nose in disbelief. “Daphne says I cackle.”

 

“I’d say that you guffaw more than anything--”

 

Justin punches my arm, affectively painting my face with his wet brush as he moves his fist away from my body. “Shit!” He pulls the bottom of his shirt up and licks it, bringing it dangerously close to my face. He stops himself and blushes, letting the material slip out of his fingers. “Oh my God. I was just going to do something that my mother used to do to me when I was a kid and I hated it! Shit.” Justin decides instead to use his fingers, and smears the paint into my cheek.

 

I twist my head out of his grasp. “Just leave it.”

 

“Are you sure?” He asks tentatively. “You can clean it up in the bathroom.” He points by way of his bedroom. “I think I have some Goo Gone in there...”

 

“To use on my skin?” I ask.

 

Blushing again, Justin shrugs. “I’ve used it before... I didn’t think...”

 

I stop him from saying anything else by taking the brush out of his hand and painting a long, blue stripe down the center of his forehead to the tip of his nose. “Now you’re like Braveheart.”

 

He giggles, touching the wet paint on his face. “Braveheart?” 

 

“Or whatever the fuck movie where they paint their faces blue and scream a lot.” I barely dodge his painted fingertips as they stretch to touch my face. “Hey, you already got me.”

 

“You’re right,” he smiles softly, tilting his head back in order for me to kiss him. Suddenly, I don’t know if we’re talking about the paint or something more... romantic. Something deeper. But, he doesn’t make a big deal out of my words, my claim that he already has me, and I lean forward to kiss him. He wipes his painted fingers down my cheek.

 

“You little--” But he’s giggling, ripping back the tarp and bounding into his bedroom.

 

I follow his laughter, watching him from the doorway of his studio. “No paint in the bedroom,” he snorts, sneering at the dripping brush in my hand. “What are you waiting for?” He asks, crooking his finger to entice me to enter his room.

 

“I’m waiting for you to get your bubble butt outside so I can dunk your head in a bucket of paint,” I answer honestly. “It’s the least you should let me do for ruining my Armani,” I motion to my shirt. “And my Calvin Kleins,” I motion to my pants.

 

“I thought you wanted a Justin Taylor original.” He lifts the hem of his shirt, the skin on his stomach untouched by paint. “Come on in, Brian,” he whispers, pulling the rest of his shirt off, tossing it to the ground with a practiced twirl. “I’ll let you mark my body all over.” He gets up on his knees and starts to unbutton his pants. When his thumbs clip under the waist of his pants, I throw the brush onto the studio floor and stalk into the room.

 

“Turn on some lights,” I tell him, walking up to the edge of the bed. “I want to see my canvas.”

 

 

Justin

 

_You already got me_. Brian’s words sing praises in my head, repeating themselves over and over. Of all the things any man has ever said to me in a moment of heated passion or mellow lovemaking, it’s Brian’s teasing words that warm my heart to its core. Because I don’t think Brian Kinney has ever said anything like that to anyone before and I can’t help but wonder whether or not he meant it the way he said it. _You already got me_. I’ve got him. I got him. He’s mine. 

 

I see a flicker in his eyes and know that he catches what he says and that he’s waiting. For me to make a big deal out of it? Probably. 

 

So I ask for a kiss and paint his cheek instead. The possibility of a very serious moment is torn away from us as I run, screeching with giggles, into my bedroom, away from the sopping paint brush hanging in Brian’s hand.

 

Brian is so easy to seduce. At first, I think he’s going to be obstinate and continue playing our somewhat juvenile game, but the minute I have my hands on my clothing, peeling them off with a playful smile, I know he’s willing. He stalks into the bedroom, like a predator. 

 

“Turn on some lights,” he tells me. I want to argue. I like playing in the dark. He senses my hesitation and says, “I want to see my canvas.” I want to groan with those words. 

 

I turn around, pants halfway down my thighs, and flip on the switch by my bed. Our eyes come into focus and he smirks. “Red sheets?” He asks, motioning to the blood red matching sheet set Daphne gave me for my birthday.

 

“Uh huh. Sometimes I get sick of blue.”

 

He pushes me onto my back, pulling off my jeans so that I’m completely naked. “You look good against red,” he whispers. I feel a blush creep across every part of my body that he studies as his eyes wander freely. “So hot.” He lifts my feet and pulls me across the soft sheets until my ass is flush against his groin. “You should--uh--wear red.” His words are stunted as he thrusts his clothed cock absently against my naked flesh.

 

I groan when he hits my balls. 

 

I decide that I like Brian this way. I like that his need for me is so great that he can’t even undo his zipper to fuck me. I like that his desire is so overwhelming that he absolutely must thrust and thrust and thrust. 

 

He falls down on top of me, crushing my erection almost painfully between the two of us. I take in a deep breath of air, hissing with its release. He looks down at my throbbing cock and huffs a laugh. Pushing himself onto his elbows, hovering over me, he says, “You know, I read somewhere about this guy who literally broke his cock when he missed his boyfriend’s ass. It snapped in two, like a pencil.”

 

“Are you trying to comfort me?” I ask, lifting my hands to tug gently on his ears. I’ve never noticed how wonderfully soft and detailed his ears are. He has text book ears. 

 

Brian breaths warm air on my face and I drink it up. “Did you come?” I ask him after he allows himself to fall into my neck, his tongue swiping out occasionally to lick my skin. He likes to lick my skin. 

 

“Do you think I’m in grade school? Of course I didn’t come. Beside,” he pushes his upper body up and straddles one of my legs, running his hands up and down my chest, “You said I could mark your body.”

 

Slowly, he unbuttons his shirt, removing it from his hot skin quickly and efficiently. He takes my hands in his and brings it to his zipper. “Undo my pants.” His voice is husky and deep. God, I could come just from the sound of it. 

 

I free his body from his pants, licking my lips as more skin--hard skin--hard, pulsating skin--is revealed. 

 

Brian only lets me push his pants down to his knees. “No more,” he demands, leaning away from my touch. His cock is pointing straight at me and my own stretches to meet it. I watch, eyes huge, as Brian’s hand crawls down his stomach and onto his cock. He weighs it in his hand, teasing me by wiggling it around. 

 

“Mine,” I whimper, grasping once again for his body. He giggles, leaning away from my hands.

 

And starts stroking. He never does the same movement for long, alternating between squeezing and pounding and tickling. I watch as his cock drips, leaving tiny stains on my sheets. 

 

I swallow. “That’s a waste,” I huff as he uses his pre-come to lube his cock. “That’s mine.”

 

“Hungry?” He asks. And it’s so dirty, so private, so _wrong_ , that I almost want him to stop. Almost. 

 

I nod my answer, snapping my teeth at him and then licking my lips. I’ve never been so hungry for someone.

 

Brian drags his cock and balls across my belly and chest, hitting my chin before feeding my open mouth. 

 

He’s sweet and salty and spicy all at once. And hot. So hot his cock leaves small blisters of heat on my tongue and down my throat. I gag in surprise when he shoves more of himself, more than I ever dreamed there was, into my mouth. I can feel him moving away, so I grab his thighs and ass, moaning my contentment. 

 

If I choked to death on his cock, at least I wouldn’t die hungry. At least I’d die content.

 

He’s rocking frantically in my mouth and when his movements become shallow, I tighten my throat, willing him to come. He doesn’t. My hand moves up to his ass.

 

Before I can stick my fingers in his body, he pulls away. “No,” he groans. He takes my hands in his and together, we masturbate him. 

 

When he comes, he marks me just as he said he would. “That was dirty,” he nearly whimpers, falling back, his clothed legs resting on my torso. His leg rubs against my cock and I come, a startled yelp escaping my lips before I crawl, gasping, over to Brian. “What was that just now?” He asks, wrapping his arms around my body, allowing me to collapse onto his chest.

 

“I came.”

 

“Ah.” 

 

We wait in silence, our heavy breathing eventually evening out. “From just my leg brushing your cock?” He’s silent, but I feel his body shaking with laughter.

 

“Shut up,” I lazily slap his shoulder. “I’m still young. And that was so fucking amazing. The way you came.”

 

His response is silent, but it speaks volumes to me. _He_ speaks volumes to me without ever saying a word.

 

 

I don’t think either one of us expect it to end up being so gentle or sweet. It just happens that way. We both want _hard_ and _push_ and _ouch_ , but when he rolls me to my side and slides in so deep that his chest is flush against my back, it changes. Everything changes. 

 

I can feel his nipples like needles poking into my back. His heartbeat is like a fucking hammer between my shoulder blades. His pubic hair scrubs against the small of my back, brushing me intimately as he pushes deeper and deeper inside.

 

I don’t think a man has ever been as deep inside of me as Brian is right now. 

 

When he comes, I can feel his moan, not just hear it. It shakes down my spine, triggering my own release and when he pulls out of me, my body follows his as he lays flat on his back. Our wet skin suctions together perfectly.

 

I roll the condom off, holding it to the light. He has so much come, I’m almost tempted to drink it. But I don’t. I squeeze it in my hands, letting his juices flow over my fist and down my arm, onto his chest. 

 

I lick us clean.

 

Glancing up at him, Brian’s eyes meet mine with something like embarrassment. He swallows and I know whatever he’s going to say will be big. Huge.

 

“I don’t think I’ve ever fucked anyone like that before,” he says, his voice cracking from the honestly of it all.

 

I settle onto my elbow. “That’s ‘cause we didn’t fuck. We made love.” And it sounds so lame, even to me, that I’m not surprised when he raises a sculpted eyebrow, his tongue dipping inside his cheek.

 

“Making love, huh.” He lets the words roll off his tongue. “Making love. Is that what you call it?”

 

“I think so,” I whisper. 

 

“I could get used to that.”

 

“So could I.”

 

“Good,” his voice smiles. He twists his body and snuggles up onto my chest, his face once again in the crook of my neck. “You’re gonna have to get used to it.” He yawns, kissing my shoulder before I feel the flutter of his lashes and he’s breathing evenly.

 

I lied. I don’t think I could ever die content. Because every time I’m with Brian, he surprises me. God, I want to be around for it all.

 

And when his arms subconsciously tighten around me as I shift positions, I have a feeling Brian wants me around.

 

For it all.

* * *

Alantie, honey, this one’s for you. Just ‘cause.


End file.
